


Churchill River, 2037

by MeloAnnechen



Category: Get Your Man
Genre: Alternate Universe - Air Service, Angst with a Happy Ending, Close Quarters, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Francis's Scar is Charles's Fault, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Strangers to Friends, Undercover as a Couple, references to past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-02-16 19:04:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 43,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2281146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeloAnnechen/pseuds/MeloAnnechen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>RCMP Air Service pilot Constable Francis MacKenzie tracks down a dangerous criminal, who may or may not have been set up and left to die in the woods.</p>
<p>Hiding Dr Pemberton from both sides of the law was not exactly what his superiors had in mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory historical hook - RCMP Air Services got its start in April 1937, with four twin-engine de Havilland Dragonfly biplanes and eight regular member pilots. The first priority of Air Services is to provide air support and assistance to operational personnel. This includes northern and regional patrols; transporting personnel, prisoners and supplies; and carrying out searches.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Doctor Pemberton is arrested, and Constable MacKenzie finds out what terrifies the doctor.

Corporal Stanislaw was a bit vague on the circumstances of the disappearance of one Dr Charles W Pemberton. “Our records show there was a missing persons report filed last year for the doctor, then cancelled a week after it was issued,” the corporal frowned as he checked his notes. “Shoddy record keeping here, there’s no report on why it was cancelled, where or even _if_ he was found.” Then the corporal’s expression hardened, “Last month the warrant on suspicion as an accessory, but primarily for questioning related to pharmaceutical trafficking was issued out of Winnipeg. Now we have the most recent notice to the SAR unit for the sighting today. Use your discretion in bringing him in. Dismissed.”

“Something is definitely wrong on this one,” and “Ayuh, smells fishier than a cannery ship,” were the muttered comments from the other pilots as they left the briefing room. Francis held his peace while they hurried out to the flightline, though he privately agreed that this assignment is a weird one. The warrant was to bring Pemberton in with the warning that this doctor was unstable and a sense of urgency in bringing him in without any weather issues driving it were just more puzzle pieces that did not fit - yet.

The four Dragonfly helicopters in their patrol were experimental solar electrics, something the engineers were hoping to eventually market for use in the national parks. The manufacturer had even worked out how to have the entire skin be a solar cell and still have the standard red, gold and blue stripes that blazoned the vehicle as official RCMP equipment. Of course, this version was of no use further north in the winter, but during the cottage season, they could patrol without refueling, making longer searches possible. The whisper quiet of the engines was an added benefit.

Francis completed his preflight check of his heli as he received clearance for his flight path from the tower operator.He had the southern shore of the river this time, and he was able to enjoy the first part of the outbound leg. This was what he loved about the job. Yes, he was dedicated to the ideals, the satisfaction of a case closed with justice served, and he enjoyed being able to help with the search and rescue unit, but his first love was flying. 

Good flying weather in this case also meant good search weather, which was not the usual thing. Francis reigned in his enjoyment to concentrate as he arrived at his sector. His outbound major axis took him parallel to the shoreline, a few klicks into the forest, at the edge of the “desirable” cottage range. The supposed “area last seen” was outside the tourism zones, bordering on the wilderness preserves. 

After a few hours running the grid, he had a heat signature alert. Large enough to be human, small enough to not be a moose, and seemed to be moving at the low end of average human running speed. He landed on the shoreline ahead of the movement. It was in deep tree cover, and he was _not_ going to call in another pronghorn as a lost hiker.

>>>>

Charles knew he had to keep running, and heading south, but he honestly had no idea if he was headed the right way. He had tried to keep course 90 degrees left of the rising sun, he had that much to guide him, but he had to dodge so many houses and natural barriers, he was not sure he was getting anywhere. Give him a city grid, and he could find his way about in less than a half-hour with minimal fuss. Out here, the endless forest had no landmarks to guide him. 

He wore the same clothes he had been wearing when he had been taken to the cottage last fall. _Cottage, bah! That was’na cottage, it was a shack built by drunken teenagers, if humans put it together at all!_ His fury fueled him as much as his fear, and his mind brought up the pain his keepers had inflicted, along with the threats they had yet to carry out. _Don’t think - run, man! They can still get you…_

He stumbled into a clearing to be confronted with a man in uniform, and he turned to get away, screaming, “NO!”

“STOP, RCMP!”

Charles stumbled, and got up quickly, but then the phrase caught up with him, as well as the unfamiliar dark navy uniform. Bracing himself to run again, he asked, wheezing, “Mountie? Not local?”

The officer approached slowly, “Yes, I’m Constable MacKenzie, Search and Rescue out of Frobisher. Are you Dr Charles Pemberton?”

“Yes! Yes, I am! I surrender!” Charles dropped to his knees in a manner that reflected his supplication more than surrender, placing his hands on top of his head.

>>>>

_Well, that was interesting_ , Francis thought as he put the cuffs on the doctor. He was in the same shape many lost hikers were in, rumpled and dirty from sleeping rough, only the doctor was in city clothes, not suited for wandering about in the north district. A closer look revealed his clothes were worn shabby, and not particularly clean. 

He also seemed to have a spring sunburn, like the cottage folks got the first weekend they traveled up from the city. Spending all winter indoors and forgetting their sunscreen, it caused a sharp delineation between winter pale and sunburn pink. Wherever the doctor had been hiding this summer, it was not in the woods until very recently, within the last 48 hours.

The picture they were shown in briefing showed a different man, polished and well kept, not scruffy and… something else was off. Francis was careful in assisting the doctor to his feet, and there was no way he was still 140 kilos. His light sweater and casual trousers hid some of it, but watching him, Francis was willing to bet Dr Pemberton had lost almost a fifth of his weight since the description was obtained from his ID card. Something in the doctor’s attitude made him think he had not voluntarily gone missing in the past year. 

He filed his suspicions away, for the moment, and started off on the Charter warning, "You are under arrest for suspicion as an accessory to drug trafficking, do you understand?” Francis waited for a response, not sure about the doctor’s current state.

“Yes,” the doctor nodded earnestly, even going so far as to snug down the handcuffs a bit.

“Anything you say can be used in court as evidence,” and the doctor’s nervousness prompted him to ask again, “Do you understand?” 

“Yes, I will cooperate to the best of my ability,” was the response.

The level of agreement was disconcerting, but Francis continued, “You have the right to retain and instruct counsel without delay. We will provide you with a toll-free telephone lawyer referral service, if you do not have your own lawyer. Would you like to speak to a lawyer?"

“I can wait until we get to the station, thank you. Where is your vehicle?” 

“Right this way,” Francis pointed down the path to the shore, and grasped the doctor’s upper arm to escort him to the heli. The doctor was still solid-feeling under his fingers, at least. Maybe it could have been voluntary weight loss, but Francis also caught sight of a week-old deep bruise on the doctor’s shoulder, where the neck of his sweater sagged. 

The last-seen bulletin report had not been issued any earlier than this morning. The warrant had been active for several months, but no sightings until this week. Francis looked over the doctor again, taking in his general appearance. _This is not an example of a lost hiker_ , he thought, _he looks more like someone living in primitive conditions for months._

Francis was drawn out of his ruminations by the muttered curse from the doctor when they got to the shoreline in sight of the helicopter. “Is there a problem, doctor?”

“I was hoping you were one of the water patrol,” he muttered, going very pale under the sunburn.

“Just a short hop back to base, less than an hour’s flight from here,” Francis led him to the passenger seat, noticing the doctor was shaking as he secured the harness in place. Looking him in the eye, he nodded, keeping his voice calm, “I’ve been flying for fifteen years, and I’ve had my heli certification for five. The helicopter was serviced yesterday, and I personally went over the full pre-flight checklist before taking off this morning.” Then he gave a small smile, “Just trust me until we get to base.”

“A-Alright,” came the response from the doctor in a small, tight voice.

Francis took the extra time to go through the full preflight checklist again, verbalizing what he was doing to reassure his passenger. As he lifted off, he radioed in the report that he had found the subject and was returning to base, requesting medical personnel to meet them at the helipad.

The Dragonfly’s engine was extremely quiet, making it impossible to miss any of the doctor’s panicked babbling. The parts that were in English gave many more details about the prescription drug ring, including the doctor’s part in it. Francis had to remind himself that he had gone over the Charter warning with the doctor, and that this was all in the clear, but he had not realized the flight would be an interrogation tool, and the concept made him more than a little ill. 

Even more so, the techniques used to coerce the doctor’s actions were heinous. The threats, the beatings, the abuses - Francis throttled down anger so strong it startled him. No one should be subjected to such treatment. 

Then the names the doctor gave started to go off the list of suspects that had been linked to the busts in Winnipeg. Names that Francis knew, but not as criminals. Now the doctor’s desperation to avoid the local police made more sense. This new information raised doubts in Francis’s mind about the warrants involved, and the doctor’s safety. He had already dropped to the minimum altitude permitted for the helicopters, if only to keep the doctor from outright screaming. He debated diverting to another detachment to confuse the issue further.

When Francis saw the targeting laser moving across the doctor’s chest he did not stop to think.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we discover there are different ways to interpret the evidence.

Charles’s last clear memory before the panic seized him was the helicopter clearing the treeline, but his next aware thought was recognizing the helicopter was not moving, and had, in fact, crashed. 

Getting out of the harness was easy, but the handcuffs were tighter than they had been when he got in. He had a few scratches, but it looked like Constable MacKenzie had taken the brunt of the damage from the shattered windscreen, with mostly minor abrasions, and one spectacular gash across the bridge of his nose. _He’s going to need patching up, and I’ll need both hands for that._ The constable was out cold, so getting the handcuff key was easy. However, when he retrieved the keys from the pilot’s shirt pocket, his fingertips came back bloody.

“Damn. Where else are you bleeding?” he muttered to the unconscious man, unlocking his dominant hand first. Poking about, he was relieved to find that the wound was to the upper arm, likely missing the major arteries. He found the first aid kit stowed under the seat, and ripped the sleeve the rest of the way open. “Oh, my lad, that is definitely a bullet wound,” he said to his unconscious patient as he checked the arm, his accent deepening. “Through and through, not an obvious fracture, canna tell if it chipped the bone or nay…” he muttered under his breath as he field-bandaged the arm, using the remains of the sleeve for a sling. The rest of his injuries were not quite as bad, but Charles took care with them as well.

“Ng.” the pilot grunted as Charles used the last of the gauze bandages on the deep gouge across the younger man’s nose. “Ow.”

“Steady on, you’ve lost a bit of blood.” Charles murmured. “How many fingers?” he asked holding up two fingers, watching his patient’s eyes.

“Thr- ng, two,” the pilot blinked up at him, both pupils the same size, though dilated. After a hiss of pain, he added, “Nose hurts, light and noise seem okay, but no deep headache.”

“Ah, you’ve been through head injuries before then. Careful, let’s see about your balance.” Charles helped him to stand, ready to catch him if he fell. 

“Yeah, I’m…” he seemed a little confused by the immobilization of his arm until he winced at the pain there. “I’m good,” MacKenzie nodded, and looked over the helicopter’s instruments. The radio crackled to life, requesting a status report for the searchers. He muttered, “hang on…” and grasping the doorframe with his good hand, the constable kicked the radio the rest of the way off its bracket. Then he leaned over to check the GPS. “Oh, I can’t be that lucky,” the pilot wheezed.

Charles leaned over, asking, “What is it?” Had the pilot gone round the bend?

“Please, read off that location?” Constable MacKenzie asked, “Tell me where it says we are? I can’t have been reading that right.” he muttered.

Charles read the latitude and longitude off, and began to worry again about a head injury when the constable began to giggle weakly. “What is it?”

“Of all the places in this province for us to crash, we’re about a five kilometer hike from my great aunt’s vacation cottage.”

Charles frowned at him, “Thinking of a vacation?”

“Thinking of a place off the books to keep you safe,” the pilot answered. “You all right to walk?”

“Well, sure - but what do you mean keep _me_ safe?” Then Charles had a shiver of fear as he thought, _He was the one who was shot..._

The constable scanned the skies, before nodding in a direction, “Let’s get moving first. You mentioned a few names I know, but I’m not on the investigation team for the drug ring.” He had not done anything about the cuffs dangling from Charles’s left wrist, nor had he made a move to secure him before heading into the woods.

“I - what?” Charles followed along.

“I didn’t know that you had a problem with flying, and if half the things you told me in the air are accurate, I need to get you to a safe place that isn’t known to every officer in the province.” MacKenzie said. 

“Yes, well - there was a reason I hid from the locals and surrendered to you,” Charles was worried, had he told the constable _everything_? “Was that why the radio was damaged in the crash?”

The pilot chuckled mirthlessly, “You pick up fast, that’s good. The radio messages would be monitored by anyone who has a scanner, including the one that hunts with a laser sight,” MacKenzie kept his pace steady, but his voice was showing some strain. “That’s not sportsmanlike, and firing on aircraft is illegal besides.”

“I figured that for a bullet wound, but who would have wanted to shoot you?”

“They weren’t aiming for me, Doctor.”

Charles stopped momentarily, as the implications settled in, “Oh. Now I’m disposable.”

“That was my thought,” MacKenzie turned to face him, “If we don’t want them to trim out the loose end, we need to tuck it out of sight.” He nodded in the direction they had been travelling, and Charles followed.

Arriving at the cottage, Charles had his assumptions skewed again. Rather than the usual sort of one-step-away-from-a-shack building like the ones he had been kept in for the past months, the modernist triangle glimmered with a south-facing solar array and barely-weathered metal cladding on the west-facing wall. The only holes in the facade from this direction was a door on the west side, and a possible loft window above. “That is not a cottage.”

The constable chuckled, “My aunt wanted something sustainable up here. A QB4 housing unit fit her needs.” 

Charles raised his eyebrows at the combination padlock closing the door. “So, am I going to be locked inside?”

“Hm?” the constable looked up from releasing the lock, momentarily confused, “No, I’ll show you how to get out by the other exits, but they can’t be opened from the outside. I’ll need to make it look like nobody’s here, so the locals won’t knock up to question if the resident saw anything,” the younger man grunted as he lifted the bar one-handed, and Charles hurried to help him with it.

“I’m to keep the blackout curtains covering the windows and don’t answer hails?”

“Something like that,” Constable MacKenzie opened the door, and ushered Charles inside.

Within five minutes, Charles had successfully opened each of the windows wide enough for him to escape, which alleviated his worries about being locked up again. In between, the constable had removed the handcuffs, given him the rundown of the utility systems and appliances in place, shown him where the supplies were stored and then retrieved a small device from a cabinet.

“This has two numbers in it already,” he said punching a few buttons, “I’ve just put mine in as well. Fire watch and the local constabulary are the other two. Call in any fires you see, but other than that,” the constable shrugged, then winced at the injudicious move, “If you have to bolt, take this with you, but don’t turn it on until you need me,” he shook his head, “- erm, help.”

Charles suppressed the urge to chuckle at the slip of the tongue, then mentally smacked himself for the images that brought up. Still, it felt good to have someone offer themselves to aid him.

“Time to lock up the front door. I’ll be back as soon as they let me out of the clinic and put me on medical leave, should be less than three days. The emergency pantry is stocked for more than a week if I’m delayed,” MacKenzie said as he was going for the door. 

“You need to rest,” Charles frowned, taking in the gray cast to the constable’s face, “and the pain is not something to ignore.” He growled at the young man, “if there’s pain medications in your personal first aid kit, take them.”

That made the constable blink, then give a nod, “I will, doctor.” Then he shook his head, “I need to get moving, though. A search party should be through here anytime in the next one to four hours. If you can manage to be quiet and not move much while they’re around, and not use the lights after sundown tonight, they should just confirm the place is closed for the week and move on.” He turned at the door, as if he was about to say something else, but just blinked and gave Charles a lopsided half-smile, “Not to worry, Dr Pemberton. We will maintain the right.”

Charles sat on the steps up to the kitchen nook, listening to the bar settle in place across the door, and this time, the sound of someone locking him in was a comfort, rather than causing despair. He took a deep breath, and decided if he had an hour or so, he could use the facilities to get cleaned up for the first time in what had been so long he could not remember.

>>>>>

Francis hiked back to the crash site, and began to take inventory of the damage. Photographing what he could with his phone, he uploaded the images to his work file. After a few moments of consideration, he sent backups to his personal storage as well. 

He was more worn out than he let on to the doctor, wanting to get him under wraps as soon as possible. Still a few hours to sunset, he checked the crash site for signs of the doctor’s actions, and took a dose of the pain medication in the first aid kit. The ground here was rock and lichen under the pines, leaving little to hold the trace of their journey to the cottage.

The shoreline was just visible through the trees in the opposite direction, and he could hear the boats from here, so that was the more probable direction for someone who was lost might go. Noting the time, he had missed two check-in calls so there was a likelihood the other pilots would be looking for him soon.

When it came time for the next radio check in, he fired an emergency flare, angling it to land on the shoreline. While the area had gotten sufficient rain in the past month, he did not like to take chances with the forest, especially so close by the cottage. Moments later, he heard the whisper-whine of another of the Dragonfly helis in the patrol. The surprise was who was the pilot this time, as Francis had not known the corporal to take on any of the patrols. “Sir?”

Corporal Stanislaw strode up to where Francis’s Dragonfly had landed, or rather, crashed. _If you can walk away from it, it still counts as a landing_ , came the memory of his mother’s voice calming him down after a rough landing when he was a teenager. 

The corporal had not said anything in greeting, so Francis waited. His superior crouched down, peering at the windscreen where it shattered, and looked over Francis before stating, “You were going a fair clip, trying to get that doctor back to the detachment as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Flying as close to nap-of-earth as regulations permit and you still managed to get the bird down without killing either of you, even at that speed.” He walked around the helicopter, and briefly placed his hand on the cowling, resting it between two more bullet holes that Francis had found earlier. “The doc patched you up and ran… where?”

“I didn’t see him run, sir.” Not a lie, because he himself had only been able to manage a brisk walk, and Dr Pemberton had followed at the same speed.

His superior nodded again, “Radio was knocked out in the crash, I see.”

Francis did not answer that, but added, “The shots came from the north shore, if the laser sight was from the same point.”

“I’m afraid that’s going to take precedence over the missing doctor.” Stanislaw nodded to the shore, “I’ll take you over to the hospital before I bring the forensics team back.”

“I gave him the warning before we lifted off, but during the flight, he… well, I don’t think he flies well.” Francis frowned, unsure of how much he should reveal. “He did treat me before he ran, and left my sidearm alone.”

“Yes, it looks like he is less of a danger to himself and others, but someone willing to shoot down an official vehicle,” the corporal muttered, “that is going to be the main focus.” As they were walking from the crash site to the Corporal Stanislaw’s heli, Francis’s superior quietly made an offhand remark, “You know, if someone should, say, _just happen_ to find the doctor, it might not be a bad idea for the discovery to not be recorded in official channels, not right away.”

“Hm,” _Did the doctor name everyone involved?_ Francis cut his eyes over to his superior, “There’s going to be a lot of paperwork for me to catch up on, if they put me on desk duty after my medical leave.” 

“You’re going to need medical leave for some scratches?”

“Depends on if the gunshot wound involves the bone or not,” Francis indicated the bandage on his upper arm. “I took the T3 dose in the med kit after I came to, but it’s not easing up, yet.”

“... the gunman _definitely_ takes precedence.” Stanislaw started the dragonfly, and radioed his report in while heading back to the detachment. 

Francis sat back for the ride, his jaw set against the pain, listening in on the report with only half an ear. He hoped the doctors would at least authorize a few weeks off, that would give him time to figure out what to do with Dr Pemberton, and maybe give the investigation time to follow up the information he was going to include in his report. He was not quite sure if he could include all of the information yet, but when he heard the corporal sign off, then start talking again, he turned his head just enough to see what his superior was doing.

Stanislaw had his cell phone headset in, curious enough, but it sounded like he was on with someone at the detachment, “Radio silence on this - get the forensics to these coordinates,” he rattled off the location of the crash, and continued, “Blood in the water, hole in the bucket, keep a lid on it.”

Code? Francis thought it likely so, with the cellular signals not being entirely secure. _He doesn’t trust the radio either,_ Francis winced, thinking about the things the doctor had babbled in his panic. The names rattling around in his head were people he only knew in passing. Even after a year stationed at the detachment, he had not gotten around to personally working with every law enforcement officer in the area. Francis had no idea if there was one leak or many, or if the gunman had simply been listening in on a scanner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my head, this QB4 is based on the QB2 found at [Cube Project](http://www.cubeproject.org.uk/), expanded one meter to the west to add another closet with a small entry hall (and make room for a king-sized mattress in the loft) The longer video is on [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oDzjFEU_gjg#t=272).


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet a crankier doctor than Pemberton, and a great aunt makes a great assumption.

Once the constable’s footsteps were no longer audible, Charles made use of the laundry unit and the shower. He let himself enjoy the feeling of sloughing off the grime from the boat-shed, setting the memories from there aside for the moment. The laundry machine had been an added bonus - it seemed this was less a summer cottage and more of an all-weather retreat. His clothes were clean and dry once he was out of the shower, and he felt almost human again.

Tea - good, strong, and freshly brewed - helped complete the transformation. He considered the staples stored in the shelves, and found oatmeal and honey. The last time he was making his own meal choices, he would have turned up his nose at porridge, but this time, the simple meal helped him feel things would be better. 

He had not drawn the blackout curtains, having been in the dark for months. No idea how long it had actually been, but he was almost willing to risk discovery to see the sunlight a little longer. There were blinds inside the windows, set to let light in without letting anyone see in, and for now, he hoped that would be enough. Bad enough he was pteromerhanophobic, he was probably going to have problems with nyctophobia now.

Setting the dishes in the sink to soak, he considered the time, and used the strange steps to get to the sleeping loft. If he needed to be immobile for a few hours, a real bed would be a treat. Lying there, staring out the window watching the high clouds passing, he considered the changes in his situation. Last summer, he had been a moderately successful surgeon in Glasgow. Last autumn, he had gotten mixed up with the wrong sort of distributor in Toronto. Yesterday, he had finally gotten out of the shack, and started running.

To be honest, he’d been running in one way or another since he entered secondary school. Running from the pokey little village he grew up in, running from the stifling standards of the university community, running from the expectations of society, and sometimes not running fast enough. Always reacting instead of acting. 

Outside, there was the noise of another helicopter, a larger one, passing overhead. His mind turned to the flight that got him here. How much had he said while he was panicking? There were things he was not ready to discuss, not with the young man who was going off-book for him, to keep him from being killed. The constable had been terse and grumpy while bringing him here, but then Charles was willing to make allowances for the pain a gunshot wound would cause. He remembered the younger man had _noticed_ he was nervous about the helicopter, and took the time to reassure him. 

He caught a glimpse of the little helicopter being carried off by the larger one, passing over the cottage. He had no clear idea where he was; even if he did know the map coordinates, he did not know the area well enough to translate the numbers to a spot he could recognize. He was someone who navigated by streets and urban landmarks, and without that he had no clue where the helicopters were headed, other than to wherever they repaired them. He hoped the doctor who saw to the constable’s repairs was competent and quick. 

But then not everyone gets what they want.

>>>>

_I really want to get this over with quickly_ , Francis thought. 

Dr Chamberlin was in fine form this evening, combining the attitude of an irascible army medic with a dash exasperated mother, “Honestly, you’re a better pilot that this, MacKenzie,” she muttered as she xrayed his arm.

“Wasn’t his fault,” the corporal said. “He landed well enough after being shot.”

The doctor whipped her head around to glare at Stanislaw, “That’s why you’re assisting?” At his nod, she continued, “I won’t be a party to hiding this, Ken.”

“Nope, documenting it, sending it straight up to Ottawa,” the corporal said. When Francis openly regarded him, Kenneth Stanislaw nodded, “There’s more here than just some slimeballs dealing. The snakes are going to need careful handling.”

She looked at Francis, and raised an eyebrow, “and you plan to hunt down the shooter as soon as I cut you loose?”

“Not unless I get assigned to the case after my medical leave is completed. But that’s not going to happen. Even if we were short-staffed, someone else would be in charge of it,” Francis managed to keep his voice even, though the pain in his arm was getting to the point that his nerves were frayed.

“Hm.” Dr Chamberlin checked the screen, and shook her head, “That chip fracture is on the edge of needing surgical correction, but I would guess you’d need to be out of here sooner than the healing time would be for that.” 

“Maybe need is a strong word,” Francis shrugged with his good arm, and winced. 

“Tch, just like the rest of them,” she muttered and turned to Francis’s supervisor. “But he’s going to need a long-term medical leave, isn’t he?” At the corporal’s half-hearted shrug, she sighed, “If it weren’t for Lexi, I would report you.”

Francis put on the blank stare he used in formation for inspections, absenting himself from the conversation. Alexis Stanislaw had been one of the first kids at the college to overdose with the new supply of drugs getting to the university. He was not supposed to know that her uncle was on the case, but it made his supervisor’s need to follow this lead more understandable. 

“Right, we’re going to epoxy this, you’re staying overnight here at the clinic, and then you come back in a week,” Dr Chamberlin started assembling the necessary items. “Corporal, scrub up, I’ll need your hands.”

>>>>

Charles had been letting his mind drift, watching the clouds, listening to the motors of the watercraft on the river. One came closer, and his stomach clenched as he realized it was not coming from the direction of the river. He froze, thinking about the windows, remembering the angle of the blinds would keep them from seeing in. Then he forced himself to relax. The constable had told him this would happen, _This is why he locked you in, you fool, to keep you safe._ Scolding himself helped, marginally. 

He hoped that the people outside were the honest officers with the local police, just this once. If they were, they would likely just check the lock and leave. Charles held his breath, knowing there was a chance that someone could fabricate a break-in as an excuse to check the building. He had overheard such from the gang before. Was this cottage the closest building to the crash? He had no idea; for all he knew, five kilometers could qualify as being in the front garden here.

Still, he was glad that he had opted to get in the bed loft, as the person outside made some noise at the door, probably checking the lock, then went around to the other two ground floor windows to check them as well. Good thing the constable had made sure he latched them properly before he left. A quick look at the window in the loft confirmed it was properly closed as well, but Charles stayed put for the moment. 

When the sound of the motor moved off again, he quietly let out the breath he had been holding. Knowing he would be too shaky to manage the strange stairs, he made himself relax, and eventually slept.

>>>>

If it were not for her skill in patching up the patrol in the past, Francis would have been certain that Dr Chamberlin had given him a placebo instead of the proper local anesthetic for the procedure. Now that evening had fallen, and his report of the doctor’s panicked babbling filed with his superior, he was tucked up in the overnight observation room at back of the clinic with some rather good painkillers, and his cell phone.

He had told the doctor to keep the unit turned off until he needed to call for help, Francis reminded himself, so there was no way to contact him. Besides, there was another call he really _should_ make first. Dialing the number in Ontario, he hoped it was a good time to call. When she answered, she did not sound rushed, at least. 

“Hullo, Aunt Ellen.”

“Francis! Good to hear from you, how is the river?”

“Well enough. I was wondering if I could borrow the cottage for a while?” How was he going to phrase this without actually lying to her? “I wanted to show someone the area, and he’s not one for primitive camping.” He technically _had_ flown the doctor over the neighborhood, after all.

She asked doubtfully, “You’ll be there with him, yes?”

“Yes, I’ve got some time off.”

“Oh, Francis,” his aunt’s sudden chuckle was warm, “He _must_ be special to get you to use vacation time. I’ll let the rest of the family know the cottage is unavailable until you and your boyfriend get back home.” 

His eyes widened, and all he could get out was, “Ah.”

“No, I won’t tell them why, dear.” she gave another chuckle, “You two have fun, and if it works out, bring him around for Thanksgiving. That is, if you two surface by then.”

“Erm.” Francis blushed, and said the only thing he could at that point, “Thank you, Aunt Ellen. We’ll see what the situation is in October, okay?”

“Right, then! Remember to turn off your phone when you want alone time with your man, and I’ll wait for you to call. Goodnight, dear!”

“Goodnight, Aunt Ellen,” he said before disconnecting.

He dropped his head back on the pillow, then chuckled weakly. “As if this was going to be a vacation,” he muttered to himself, trying to ignore his great aunt’s assumption. He was going to need to be on alert, so he would have to otherwise behave himself while he was on protection detail, unofficial or not.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we discover that more than one may need to be on the run.

Charles woke in the dark with a scream choking his throat. Though he was disoriented for those first few post-REM seconds, he had been conditioned over the last few months to freeze on waking up. Sometimes the only thing that had kept him from another round of abuse was his ability to remain still as he assessed the damage.

He was comfortable, on a real mattress, with the scent of clean linen around him. Not on the musty cardboard he had used last week as a mat, and without the smell of rotten wood or stale tobacco smoke present, he was safe. 

Safe.

At least for the moment - he knew that until the last of the crew was arrested or whatever, he was still in for some level of danger. But the tightness in his chest loosened, and he rolled over to sleep again.

Morning came soon enough, and he guessed it would be safe to move about again. More tea - he had missed good tea, and liberal application of honey was a start. Living on months of take-out leftovers, when his kidnappers had remembered to feed him, had been ghastly. He had not been fond of fast food before his abduction, and was even less so now. Fried foods were fine once in a great while, but not as the only thing, and definitely not cold and greasy. Probably another reason why he was craving oatmeal so much; his body was trying to offset the cholesterol loading.

He sighed, and set about making more porridge for breakfast. The constable’s great aunt had good taste in her staples, at least. Nothing instant, but everything sealed for doomsday. Charles wondered if he would have to make room if the world started to burn while he was still here. At that morbid thought, he added more honey to his oatmeal to counteract it.

>>>>

Francis woke to Dr Chamberlin bringing in breakfast, and muttering, “I suppose you want to drive off right away.” She held up her hand when Francis began to respond, “I do not want to know where you are going. The less I know now, the less I will be able to say later.” She settled the tray on the over bed table, “but you will get yourself back here a week from yesterday, at 1830. The rest of the staff should be gone by then. Park in the back of the building, and I’ll let you in.”

“Thanks, Doc. I’ll be back then.” She left him to breakfast, and he started plotting the route out. If he stopped at his grandparents’ place, he could switch out his car for one of the trucks, and that should be less conspicuous. He would need to take care with how he advertised his presence at the cottage, and his car was definitely a city vehicle. He also wanted to change out of uniform as soon as he got home, and dig out his old hiking gear.

Corporal Stanislaw arrived just after the doctor cleared him to leave. Shutting the door behind her, the older officer said “Don’t go back to your place, someone tossed it last night. Your landlord called it in, and we still have the lab crew going over the apartment.” He placed a duffel on the foot of the bed, “I put together a go-bag for you and Stowe checked out one of the cars from the motor pool,” he handed over the keys, “We need to get you out of sight soon as you’re able.”

“Nobody was injured, were they?” Francis stood, shouldering the bag with his good arm. 

“Clean break-in, the landlord noticed it early this morning. He saw the door was open, and with you not showing up last night, he knew something was up. Richaud reported the number of uniform pieces in your closet matches what you’ve been issued, but he’s still checking everything else,” Stanislaw shrugged, “We’ll be sealing your flat until the investigation is complete.”

“I’ve got an inventory in my files, hang on,” Francis thumbed through his phone before sending his household inventory to his supervisor’s phone. “Not that I expect anything was stolen, but you never know who collects what. I’ll have to handle the insurance later, anyway.”

>>>>

Rounds of tea, oatmeal and and naps characterized Charles’s activity during his first full day in the cottage. It was frustrating to be so tired, but he knew, objectively, that he was doing exactly what his body needed - rest and refuel. 

It still made him peevish, but by the afternoon, he was able to stay awake for more than an hour or so, and he started rummaging through the stores for a better idea of what was available. When he opened the storage area under the kitchenette, there were several storage tubs of supplies, just as the constable had mentioned. At first he was nervous about crawling into the confined space, but the scent here was nothing like the dank cellar. Warm, dry, and smelling a bit like the grocer’s shop in the high street of his home village, it was a comforting memory.

The food stored here was shelf-stable items that he had not seen since his university days, when his roommate had been mad for backpacking in the back of beyond. He had thought the freeze-dried stew David had made then was horrid, but the vegetable soup looked a lot different, so he set aside one container to put in the cabinet. 

He chuckled at himself, of course it was different, a decade could change a lot about anything in the world. Less than a year could change him radically, after all. Going from a sybaritic lifestyle in Glasgow to the rank conditions that he had recently escaped had been drastic. Charles stopped thinking about that transition with a shiver. So what if the sheets here were likely low-thread count - he had done without a bed, much less sheets and blankets for a time, and he was glad to have them now. Especially on such a large and supportive mattress. 

No, not a good time for that thought either, not when he was still in an unstable situation, so he delved further into the stores. After finding the case of condensed milk and several bottles of Newfoundland paint-solvent-disguised-as-rum, Charles grinned, muttering, “woman after my own heart,” and set aside a couple of tins of the milk for the cabinet as well. The rum he left in place; better to wait and see if they needed it later. He wondered how much MacKenzie had been influenced by her and decided that he would like to meet the constable’s great aunt someday.

The bin of books at the back of the storage was a bit of a surprise. _Why have them boxed up and not in those odd shelves that make up the stairs?_ he thought. _There’s plenty of room there with the survival and nature guides in the lounge._ Then he flipped though a few of them, turning the pages to the light from the door, and found them to be blank books. In the same bin, there was also a box of ink pens. He frowned, thinking of the gunshot wound he had patched up on the constable, then added a few books and some pens to the pile to be sorted outside the crawlspace. 

Taking his treasures from the crawlspace, Charles spent a few moments putting things away in the cabinets, and tried the freeze-dried soup. Not bad, still nothing on Soupe de Printemps Provençal at the Brasserie, but it was much better than that beef stew in college, and loads better than day-old fish and chips. He took the time to clean the kitchen and put everything away before turning to the notebooks.

He was torn, wavering on indecision. There was much in his experiences over the last months he never wanted to even _think_ about again, much less tell anyone else about, but then there was the problem that there were people out to silence him. That firmed his resolve to testify against them, even if it meant telling everything to the courts. His chances of surviving had gotten better with the help of the constable, but those odds were still not in his favor, not yet. 

Thinking of his rescuer, he would have preferred that the young man not know the whole story, but if he had told the constable about the local officers in his aerial panic attack, chances are he already knew the worst of it. Writing it might be easier. With that in mind, he sat at the table, and began to document his past year. 

He kept going until it was too dark to see, then went to bed, leaving the lights off again.

>>>>

Driving away in the unmarked vehicle, Francis considered the difficulty in hiding it from other law enforcement officers. His original plan to switch out the vehicle at his grandparent’s place made even more sense, now. He could make it to the farm a few hours before sunset, and this time of year, only his grandmother would be in residence. When the summer people came around, most of his mother’s folks headed further north to the Peel River fishing camp - they were serious about their privacy. 

Before he could pull up to the house, the garage door was opening, with a tall, rangy figure waving him in. His grandmother chuckled as she closed the door behind the car, “No need advertising to the neighbors I’ve got company, they might take it into their heads to stop by and visit.” Then she frowned at the arm immobilizer, “What have you done this time? You are going to stay here and heal up, right?”

“I’m ‘fraid not, Nana. I gotta move on after dark, but I was wondering if I could keep this car here and use one of the trucks for a couple of weeks?”

“We’ll talk about it over dinner, when you can try to convince me you’ve got your marbles sorted,” she said as she took his duffel from him.

He had no illusions that his grandmother was going to actually _believe_ the simplest, straight-forward, stripped-down answer, but she would possibly accept it. “It was just an accident, and I’ll be out for a while.” 

“Mmhm,” she nodded, “You go on to the den and take a nap.” Her tone told Francis that his grandmother knew there was more to the story, but that she also knew she was not cleared for the rest of it. 

Francis woke after a few hours, and was tempted to stay the night so he could take another dose of his prescription, but the urgency to get back to Dr Pemberton was stronger than the need for his pain medications. Driving through the night would be easier with over the counter pain relievers, besides. 

His grandmother was in the kitchen when he went in search of a glass of water, “Supper will be ready soon, and I have some veg from the garden for you to take with you, if you can,” she said when he dropped his bag by the door.

“Thanks, Nana,” his response was quiet, as he poured the tea. He did not like not telling her what was going on, but Dr Chamberlin’s warning was still with him. “I don’t know when I’ll be back through here,” he began.

“No, you are not leaving me the keys to that car. I can spare your grandfather’s truck until Labor Day, and we are not going to give Internal Affairs cause to even _imagine_ looking in your direction for misusing the equipment.” She had not looked up from plating their supper.

He sighed, recognizing an immovable object when he ran into one, “Yes, Nana.”


	5. Chapter 5

Mid-morning of his second full day in the cottage, Charles was just finishing up his first notebook. It was rough, detailing the enticements used to get him out of the city, which in hindsight were obviously too good to be true. It galled him to reveal how gullible he seemed, but he needed to be thorough, in case the next attack was successful. He had just gotten to the first threats used by his captors to get him to sign off on medications for delivery, when the sound of an engine caught his attention. With the window cracked open to take advantage of the breeze, he often heard the distant purr of watercraft and shouts of revelers on the river. 

This engine noise was coming from the road, and getting closer.

 _Close the window or bail out and run?_ The grumble of the engine was closer than he was willing to bet he could outrun, so he latched the window, scooped up his notes and dove for the storage under the kitchen nook. He was able to close the door, and quietly move one of the bins between himself and the hatch. Then Charles fumbled the phone out of his pocket, and texted “help” to the constable’s number, before turning the phone off again.

Listening in desperation, the bar had been removed, and someone was entering the lounge. There was an electronic attention signal, and then a quiet call, “Dr Pemberton?”

Was that the constable? Charles edged forward to peek through the crack in the door, and sighed in relief. MacKenzie was sitting on the banquette, putting a text into his phone, but his head came up at the quiet sound, “Doctor?”

“Here,” Charles answered as he moved the bins out of his way to get out of the storage. “I didn't hear your car until you were almost on top of the place.” He waved off the constable’s hand, “No, I can get out on my own, you need to rest that arm. Tell me what your doctor said while I get the tea.”

“They found the bullet in the padding of the seat back, and it left me with a chip fracture. Not severe enough to require an open reduction, and when she explained what _that_ was, I’m glad I didn't have to go under the knife for it. That would have been a longer delay. She epoxied it instead.” Then MacKenzie paused, and when Charles turned to face him, saw that the constable was smiling, “Dr Chamberlin also wrote up a report for your file commending you for taking the time to provide proper aid to your arresting officer before disappearing.”

That smile was doing things to Charles he thought he had under control, but then the comment sank in. “I’m a doctor before anything else, fugitive or no,” and if his voice was a little gruff, at least MacKenzie did not know him well enough to hear the embarrassment under it.

>>>>

Francis smiled at the doctor’s surprise, but there was a line of thought he kept completely out of his expression, _He has no idea how to handle people doing things for his benefit. How long has he been that alone?_ Covering the confusing twinge the thought caused by sipping the tea Dr Pemberton had given him, he asked instead, “Has there been anyone poking about?”

“There was someone yesterday. I didn't get a look at the vehicle or the person, so I can’t tell you if it was anyone I knew, or even if it was the police,” the doctor retrieved a notebook from the bookshelf in the side of the stair, turning to the first pages, “around 1750 yesterday, they checked the locks and the windows, then headed on.” Then he asked, “Won’t the locals know you have access to this place?”

“Most of them, probably not,” Francis shifted, as the trip up had been wearing, making do with the smallest recommended dose of over-the-counter pain medications so he could drive. “Last time I was here was maybe six or seven years ago, before college and the academy, so there aren't that many on patrol that would remember me, I think. The place is in my great aunt’s name, and with the matrilineal connections, the names aren't the same.” He hoped he was not obvious in his discomfort as he shifted about.

The doctor looked at him, closely, before asking, “How many of your scheduled pain doses have you skipped?”

“Only one,” Francis shrugged with his good arm, and when the doctor raised an eyebrow, he mumbled, “or three.”

The doctor grunted, “Time for you to go back on them, you’re turning grey under your tan.” He made a motion with his fingers, “Right, then - turn out your pockets, let’s see what you’re supposed to be on.” 

Before the medications took hold of him, Francis unloaded the truck, shaking his head when the doctor offered to help, “it’s not heavy, just awkward, and,” he considered the implications of keeping Pemberton unaware of the dangers before adding, “it might be a good idea if you didn't go outside until dusk, just in case.” 

Later, Francis drowsed on the sofa, the nagging pain in his arm finally fading. The sounds of Dr Pemberton moving about the kitchen were unfamiliar. Having lived alone since he graduated from the academy, Francis did not drop off entirely at the sound of another person nearby, but at the same time, the domestic sounds were reassuring. 

By suppertime, the doctor woke Francis with a light touch on his uninjured shoulder, “Hope you don’t mind salad. It’s been a while since I had fresh veg.”

“No, that sounds fine, thanks,” Francis stretched, toeing the ottomans back against the wall while sliding the table back into the center.

“Looks like you've had practice with that,” Charles chuckled, setting the salad bowl and plates on the table. 

“When I was here with my great aunt, this is where I slept. The ottomans were necessary when I got too tall for the bench,” Francis nodded at the seat for two, then turned to the kitchen, “Need any help?”

“Nah, nah - I got it.” While the doctor was placing the glasses, utensils and water pitcher on the table, Francis noted he moved with precision, but also a fluid grace. Ducking his head to break his stare, he hoped the doctor would not notice.

The doctor made a small surprised noise, then bowed his head as well and muttered quietly, “Slainte mhor.” Then dishing out the salad, he asked, “I hope it was all right to rummage through the storage,” nodding at the crawlspace under the kitchen.

“Yes, that’s fine, I’ll replace what we use after we get you to safety,” Francis ate slowly, still not quite together after his nap, still getting used to the pain medications. “I cleared it with my great aunt, and she’ll make sure we have some privacy.” He sipped his water to cover his awkward blush, _That was not the best way to phrase that, but better than what she actually said._ Clearing his throat, “Anyway, there’s plenty here, if needed.”

“So, there’s a plan for what comes next?”

“It might be a bit generous to call it an actual ‘plan’, but I have a general outline, at least,” Francis settled, “Part of it is laying low for a week or so, to see what the grapevine has to say about the whole mess from the crash, and whether there’s more people interested in you or the gunman.”

“What should I expect, and what do you need me to do?”

“Right now, I am expected back at the clinic next week for my follow-up appointment. Other than that, I am officially on medical leave, staying with family, especially after…” Francis stopped, not wanting to distress the doctor with what might be an unrelated break-in, “well, the shooting, which I can be interested in, but I can’t be on the official investigation team. Unofficially, my focus is to keep you alive and hidden from whoever shot at us.” Francis was brought up with a start of surprise that he had mentally sorted the two of them as _us_ so quickly.

Dr. Pemberton seemed to grin briefly, “A week at a time, then. Longer range than I've been able to plan for a while.” He then sobered, “How likely is it that I could go with you to the clinic next week without getting caught?”

Francis considered the question as he ate, finally answering, “If you aren't claustrophobic, we could try it. The delay could throw off the scent, especially since I was actually planning to take you to the hospital the next town over. The clinic is far enough out that it would not have been our first landing.”

The doctor shuddered, “As long as we aren't flying, I can deal with tight spaces, I think.”

Francis frowned, “Are you in need of medical attention sooner than that, Dr Pemberton?”

“Charles,” the doctor corrected, “and not anything immediate, but,” he glanced up at Francis, then focused on his salad, “I need to make sure that the past year or so didn’t cause problems beyond curing me of wanting to ever go into a chip shop ever again,” he shrugged.

Francis paused, remembering the doctor’s - _Charles’s_ he corrected himself - panicked recitation in the helicopter. “Of course,” he answered, and turned his attention to his plate. _I can’t ask about it until he’s ready, but I think he might need more than physical help. Maybe Dr Chamberlain will suggest it._ Belatedly, he responded to the offer of his first name, “and it’s Francis. We’re going to be in close quarters for a little while, so we might need to be a little informal.”

>>>>>

 _A little informal, he says,_ Charles thought. _He’s going to drive me insane at this rate._ Hiding his grin, he asked, “How is your balance, can you manage the stairs?”

Francis gave a small start, then winced in pain, “Ah, probably not a good idea this week. I can manage with this downstairs space.”

Charles nodded, “Best get you out of the sling and at least partial use of that arm before trying those crazy stairs, then.” 

“Jeffersonian stairs,” Francis offered, slowly making his way though the salad, “at least that’s what my aunt called them.”

“I wonder why there’s rum in the place at all, considering you need to be sober to go to bed.” Charles kept his tone light while thinking of other things that were better to be sober to manage.

“Apparently, Aunt Ellen had enough practice to manage it, though I don’t remember any time she drank enough to be unstable.” Francis chuckled, “She did say it was the only way to sleep through the snoring, some nights.”

“Ah, what my granny would have called a ‘medicinal tippler’,” Charles chuckled. “That would account for there only being six bottles instead of six cases on hand.”

“I’m not much for drinking these days, considering I might need to fly at a moment’s notice, but if you wanted to indulge,” Francis began.

“Not tonight, at least. I've been out of practice for the better part of a year, and, well.” Charles shrugged, trying to not give much weight in his words, “I’m not quite up to my usual shenanigans.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask, but,” Francis chuckled, “would your ‘usual shenanigans’ catch the attention of the police?”

The doctor chuckled and rubbed the side of his nose, “Not since my undergraduate years, no.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are tales of youthful shenanigans, and some incidental nudity.

After the sun had settled below the horizon, Francis settled carefully in his great-aunt’s favorite spot on the small porch. A glass of ice water was at his elbow instead of Aunt Ellen’s preferred Newfoundland rum, because he was still on duty, no matter what his paperwork said. Charles cautiously eased out of the door, with another glass, sitting on the bench beside him.

“You all right?” they both asked at the same time. After a mutual chuckle, the doctor asked, “Pain still manageable?” 

“Yes, thank you. It’s not the first time I've dealt with broken bones, though it’s been a while.” Francis gave a half-smile, looking across the lake. “I spent most of grade eight in a leg cast. This is definitely better.”

“You’re right handed, then?”

“Ambidextrous,” Francis responded, “Though this time it was a little difficult to manage shifting in the old truck, I was able to manage.”

“Shifting?” Charles’s voice seemed strained.

Francis turned his head slightly, “It’s not that hard, and I didn't need to take my arm out of the immobilizer.” The last traces of sunset made it look almost like Charles was red-faced, but that was probably just a trick of the light.

“How old is that truck, anyway?” 

_Definitely a trick of the light_ , Francis thought. Charles sounded more curious than angry, at least. “A couple of years older than me. Granddad taught me to drive it as soon as I could see over the steering wheel and reach the pedals at the same time.”

“Did he also teach you to fly?”

“Nah, mum is the bush pilot. I had to work to convince her to teach me to fly.” Francis smiled at the memory. “I got my pilot’s license when my friends were getting their ground vehicle permits. I didn't bother with that until I was a recruit.”

“Licensed to fly, but not drive?” Charles chuckled, “I got my motorbike licence as soon as I was legal, just to get into town on my own.” 

Francis nodded, “I can see that. I wasn't that much for two wheels, not many roads safe for bikes back home. How far from town were you?”

“Oh, far enough away that it was a special trip,” Charles chuckled. “I couldn't get away from the village fast enough. University and my surgical practice were in Glasgow, and that was enough for me…” he trailed off.

Francis turned his head, just enough to get a better look at the older man. His expression was wistful, and yet there was something about the set of his eyes that made Francis want to ask what went wrong. He held back, not quite sure if it would be prying, and from the look of Charles’s mood, it could have been a painful experience.

>>>>>

Charles braced himself for the the next obvious question, _why did you leave a home you loved_ , or something similar, but he still was not ready to delve into the morass that his move to Canada represented. It was the second-least favorite subject for him at the moment, only recently nudged out of first place by the subject of how he spent the last winter.

Francis gave a shrug with his uninjured arm, and said, “I got to see about half the provinces over summer vacations, just with visiting relatives. Made it easier to make my wish list for detachments when I got out of Depot, for definite.”

“Did you never have the desire to see the rest of the world, then?” 

“Maybe someday, sure.” Francis tracked the clouds drifting in the upper level winds, “I've seen some of the United States, but mostly at conferences, or on emergency flights. There’s a few places I’d like to return to see without a big group or a natural disaster involved, to wander at my own speed.”

“Glad to see you realize conferences don’t count. Not unless you add a week’s holiday to it, but that’s not often possible.” Charles chuckled. “I did the youth hostel and rail pass thing during college, along with half my class.”

“How many languages did you mangle in your travels?” Francis smiled as if he knew there had to be a story there.

“After the bar fight that ended up with me swimming in the Rhine, I learned my lesson. Mostly, I got by with a mix of English and French, and some pointing.” The doctor shook his head, but kept his grin, “We were such idiots that trip.”

“With learning experiences like that, it’s a wonder any of us make it to adulthood.”

“What was one of your misadventures?” Charles chuckled lightly.

“Ah, the one with the most mayhem involved a trip to Alaska - without identification, mind you - on a supposed illegal whaler.” Francis shook his head, “My cousins and I had stowed away on a ship headed for refitting as a whale-watch cruise vessel.”

“Oh, no. How old were you?”

“Ten, and the youngest of the group, but not by much,” the young man’s smile reflected his chagrin, “Mags was older by six months, and had been reading the news about environmental pirates all winter, so when she spotted the decrepit-looking vessel berthed at the unused portion of the docks, of course we had to _apprehend_ them.”

“As you do,” Charles nodded. “She turn police or navy when she got older?”

“Navy - she started as a marine engineer, but I haven’t heard from her in a couple of years to find out where she went from there.” Francis shook his head, “I haven’t thought about that summer in ages.” He shifted a little, trying to ease the growing ache in his arm without alerting Charles, but the doctor was too sharp.

“Arm starting to give you some trouble?”

“Nothing, it’s fine,” Francis turned to reassure him, but his smile was unfocused, with the pain causing a small furrow in his forehead.

“Come on, time for your medication. Up you get,” Charles offered his hand to Francis, “You still have a lot of healing to do.”

Francis winced as he stood, “The medications make it hard to stay awake.”

“That’s because you need to rest, lad,” Charles opened the door, and had to restrain himself from letting his other hand land on the small of Francis’s back, or anywhere else on the younger man. “Healing takes energy, just like any other heavy work.”

“Yes, mum,” Francis grumbled, but then he grinned, fingering the still-healing scar on his nose.

>>>>

Francis woke slowly, as the pain medications were making him sleep much deeper than usual. He still woke around dawn to the sounds of the shower and the laundry unit running. His arm might be immobilized, but there was nothing wrong with his hearing - or his vision, as he found out when the doctor stepped out of the shower to dry off. 

Back-lit by the sunrise coming in the east window, Charles’s many fading bruises were not as visible as they would be under full sunlight. What the shadow could not conceal was that even though he might never have been an athletic man, the doctor was… comforting, and solid. Even with the weight loss during his captivity, he had retained enough mass to soften the angles of his frame. Maybe he was not a hearty outdoorsman, but he was, to Francis’s eyes, beautiful. The towel brushed over his skin, taking away the highlighting of water sheen and droplets on his skin, but that did not lessen the impact. Broad shoulders, enticing amounts of hair in all the right places, coupled with his wit and skilled hands; Dr Charles Pemberton was a desirable man.

Francis knew, in that moment, that he was in deep trouble.

He was glad his head was in shadow under the north-facing window when the laundry unit signaled the end of the cycle. Francis swiftly shut his eyes as the doctor swore softly under his breath, and hurried to the unit. From the sounds of it, he was dressing right there as he pulled his clothes out of the laundry. 

_Of course, he hasn't any other clothes with him,_ Francis thought, with some chagrin. He tried to keep his breathing even and low, as one asleep, until he did not hear Charles moving about. As he “woke” he found Dr Pemberton dressed, if barefoot, sitting on the bottom step, watching _him_. “Morning,” Francis murmured, slowly getting up.

“Stay abed a bit, I haven’t started breakfast,” Charles said, turning to the kitchen.

>>>>

Charles puttered about in the kitchen nook, humming a love song nearly half a century older than he was, as he started the tea and oatmeal that had been their habit in the mornings the past week. When he finally tracked what song was running through his head, he stopped. _You are in deep trouble, boyo. There’s no need to drag a gorgeous young man down with you_ , he sternly told himself. _Even if he’s old enough to know better, he is still young enough to do better than a fugitive with no future._

That still had not stopped him from pausing in his morning routine to admire the constable as he slept, so different from anyone he had associated with in the past few years. It did not stop him from imagining a long line of “ifs”. If he managed to get out of this alive, was there a chance he could see the constable again? That was if he could convince the young man to keep in touch with him, which was highly unlikely, as few law enforcement officers could afford close association with felons. 

_Even if Francis is attracted to men, would he want me?_

That last question bothered him. Five years ago, it might not have caused him a second thought, as he had years of practice to gracefully turn a pass into an overture of friendship. Ten years ago, it would not not have been a question at all. He had been free with his attractions and affections, which was one of the reasons he was in Canada now. 

He avoided going over that set of memories, and the discomfort associated with them. They were no longer _painful_ , but rather embarrassing that he had made such a mess of that affair. Once bitten, twice shy, but this time, though he was cautious, he was still being drawn into that bright smile. 

Mature reflection suggested he should behave himself while in the constable’s care. His libido had no use for mature reflection, and gleefully kept constructing fantasies around Francis when Charles was not focused on another task requiring concentration.

The cottage was becoming excessively clean as the morning progressed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we find out some of what Charles did during his summer... vacation?

Francis made sure the door was secured before taking his next round of pain medications. Not to keep the doctor in, though it seemed as if Charles was about to vibrate into another plane of existence, but Francis hated to be less than his best on duty. 

Charles brought the medication and a glass of water, “You sure you don’t want to sleep in the loft?”

“Best not to risk it,” Francis shook his head, “I need to be downstairs if anyone comes by. How are the supplies holding out? I can make a store run in the afternoon, if we need anything else.”

“Your aunt packed the place for the end of the world, so we've not made much of a dent in the pantry, and other than fresh items, not much was missing,” Charles said, putting the last of the dishes away. “The vegetables you brought with you will last a couple of days. I don’t suppose there is a clothing store nearby?”

“Not close, but that would be doable.” Francis reclined as the pain medications took hold and sighed. “I’d need to skip a dose of the pain medications to be able to drive, but I could do that.”

“No.”

He blinked owlishly at Charles, “Hm?”

“You are not skipping your pain medications. They were prescribed for a reason.”

“Oh,” Francis giggled softly. “I said that part out loud, did I?”

“Yes, you did and no, you are not skipping your meds for the next few days.” Charles frowned at Francis with a stern air, “I can make do with the clothes I have, until then.”

The younger man softly chuckled, murmuring as the influence of the pain pills became apparent, “is'kay, you’n go nude if you wan’,” before he drifted off to sleep, softly snoring.

>>>>

Charles stared at the sleeping constable, not quite sure if he had heard that last bit correctly. It would be just his luck that his subconscious twisted whatever Francis had actually said to something he wanted to hear. _It would be wiser to wait until he was not flying without the helicopter to take that invitation seriously,_ he thought, watching Francis sleep a few moments.

He shook himself out of his reverie and moved his stash of notebooks from the storage under the kitchen up to the loft. Charles was not quite ready to share the minute details with _Francis_ , even though he had possibly told _Constable MacKenzie_ the overview. Truth be told, he had an irrational desire to protect Francis from the actions taken by the gang. A silly thought, as the constable was a trained law enforcement professional, and knew, if not all the different ways people could be horrible to each other, he knew a good many of them. Still, he had the urge to shield the young man from the horrors Charles had weathered over the past year.

Sitting in the loft was reminiscent of his undergraduate dormitory, and if Charles thought of his documentation of his troubles as documentation for a particularly twisted sociology paper, it gave him a modicum of distance, made it easier to detail the incidents. As a coping mechanism, it would not work forever, but it did enable him to remember without screaming. It was a far cry from his attitude when he was first at university, all boredom, sharp edges and ambition. Back then, he would have laughed at the idea that someone could threaten him. 

Years later, he knew better. He had lost so much since those years, and yet there were still things others could threaten to take from him. Some were more recent than others.

>>>>

Francis eased out of his doze, but when he was not able to see Charles from the lounge, he came fully aware with a start. Yes, there were corners he couldn't see, but there was only so much space in the cottage. He managed to not shout in his brief panic,“Charles?”

“Up here,” came the response, as Charles’s feet dropped into view from the loft. “Timing is just about right with your medications. Hungry?”

“Yes, thank you,” Francis let the worry drain from him as he watched Charles put together lunch, relieved that the doctor seemed to be willing to stay, taking a chance on the unconventional safe house arrangement. 

His mind wandered back to the terrible tale Charles had told while they were flying. Even if Francis’s instincts told him the doctor had only scratched the surface, what he had been told caused him to shudder inwardly. He had the benefit of the training at Depot, the first-hand knowledge from his urban field coaching assignment, and his years with the SAR unit, but this was his first hands-on case that involved outright torture. 

There was no doubt in his mind that Charles’s panic in the air was real. His subsequent reluctance to discuss his recent past was understandable, but also worrisome. He would need to debrief, and some form of counseling. Both tasks were important, but Francis was not clear-headed enough to properly manage the former, and the latter was outside his training. The most he could do would be to offer a sympathetic ear, and hope he did not cause later problems.

“Penny for them,” Charles said as he set two mugs of soup on the table.

Francis shook his head, “As few of them are still around, I have to say that’s a hefty price for what I was thinking.” He took the mug in his good hand, and murmured, “Still, heavy thought on medication isn’t something I do well.” After a sip of soup, he added, “If I can remember to look for it, there’s a measuring tape in the sewing kit, so I can get your measurements. That way, I can pick up something at the store if I find something for you.”

>>>

Charles stopped himself from saying the first three things that came to mind, all variations on offers to go _au naturel_ , and instead shrugged. “I can manage for now, unless we’re going into town for dinner.” He smiled, “Not that I would normally turn down an evening out, but maybe when I’m not supposed to be hiding.”

Francis’s small laugh was quiet, “Maybe later, then.” 

“Give me enough time to plan, and I’ll dress up,” Charles teased lightly, even as he hid his wince behind his soup mug. _You **idiot** , is that flirting? How pathetic can you be?_ he thought to himself, _Get out of this mess before you go off the rails!_ “Anyway, I’ve had better food the past few days than in the past… what month is this, anyway?”

“July,” Francis responded, a questioning look on his face. “The twentieth of July, to be exact.”

Charles sat back in shock, “I was held for over eight months. I knew it was a long time, but I lost track of time.” He wrapped his hands around his mug, shivering in spite of the warmth of the day.

“You were reported missing last fall, but the report had been closed, without a reason why,” Francis said quietly.

Taking a few moments to get himself under control, Charles responded, “I remember the fight the report caused. I hadn't been locked up until that week,” he gave a mirthless laugh, “Before that fight, I thought I was on an assistance team.”

“Lured out by a job doing good, then.”

“And when I found out what I actually was doing, it was too late to get out, too late to stop it,” Charles rubbed his face, annoyed with himself and embarrassed.

>>>>>

Francis thought a moment before asking, “Did they use specific threats to keep you working?”

“Look, Francis - I know it may seem weak to you, but,” he paused, “they threatened to break my fingers, do deep and permanent damage my hands.” He held the hands in question in front of him, turning them over before clenching them into fists on the tabletop. “I’m a surgeon, a damned good one, too! That could have ruined any chance I had to go back to what I do best.” Charles then ran his hands through his long hair, “Well, losing my licence would do that too, but that was something I could have earned back, at least there was a chance I could serve the penalties, maybe go volunteer with WHO or MSF as part of the deal, but if my hands were out of action...” he hung his head, hands back on the table between them, and he sighed. “All right, I might have been able to retrain to be a GP, but unless you’re in the service, they expect you to be a kindly soul at the local clinics. I’d have to find a place that could handle my piss-and-vinegar attitude.”

Francis thought about it from that angle, and he could see the pain there. “I understand, Charles, I do,” putting his good hand on Charles’s arm. “If someone had used the threat of injuring me to the point that I couldn’t serve, or worse, could not _fly_ ever again, I can see how that would be a hold on you. I can’t offer any assurance that the court will see it the same way, but I get why it would be a potent threat.”

The doctor covered Francis’s hand with his own, not looking up, “It helps, knowing I’m not a complete coward, at least.” Charles gave his hand a brief squeeze, before he stood, “I need more tea. Can I get you one?” and moved to the tiny kitchen nook.

It gave Francis a chance to recover his equilibrium, as he fingered the scar across the bridge of his nose, “Yes, tea sounds good.” Tea was safe enough. He could allow himself to have tea.

>>>>

Charles paused in the door of the cottage as the sunset painted the porch in gold-red light, “May I join you?”

Francis nodded absently as he scanned the horizon, “Seems quiet tonight.”

“Too quiet?” Charles asked, settling on the bench.

“No, there’s not many motors out tonight, but the night birds are having a good time,” Francis smiled, “Not scared quiet by something they don’t recognize, nature’s perimeter alarm.”

“Loons, those things stole my sleep about as often as…” Charles paused, shaking his head.

Francis placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, murmuring, “As often as the goons did.”

“Aye,” and he let the conversation trail off for a few minutes before asking, “How is your arm?”

“Sore, but getting better.” Francis shifted, “I’m tired of the sling, but I know the more I take care now, the fewer problems I’ll have later.”

Charles chuckled, “You know the talk, but can you manage the walk?”

“Most of the time, yes,” he chuckled along with the doctor. “But there are times when you have to do for yourself.”

“Your kin are from the north, then?” Charles broadened his accent to mimic the speech patterns of his Orkney cousins.

Francis gave a short huff of a laugh, “I suppose that explains the attitude as much as anything.”

The doctor shook his head, “From what I've seen and heard, your detachments aren't overstaffed by any stretch of the imagination. Not so many of you that you’re disposable. You need to be careful.”

“True enough. But if it’s a choice between me or an innocent, I’ll take the injury.”

Charles shivered in the warm night, “Hope it never comes to that.”

Francis kept his eyes on the stars, “It has once before, it could again.”

Something in Francis’s voice caught Charles’s attention. “Once?” 

He turned his eyes from star-watching to Charles, quietly murmuring, “Once so far.” Then he smiled and turned back to the sky.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Francis discovers what he did _not_ hear in the air.

The week progressed, with enough variety that Charles did not have the same trouble as before keeping track of what day it was. According to the date, he had missed the Glasgow Fair, but his sense of nostalgia was not strong enough to offset the aggravation involved in making the trip back, not even for his uncle’s heather ale. That was without even considering the social quagmire the city held for him. Though the statute of limitations for his legal complications back home had expired, there were still people in town who would enjoy making his visit _interesting_ in a very uncomfortable manner. 

Francis was still on the heavy pain medications; Charles suspected the doctor who treated his injuries saw the pilots in his group as hyperactive kids in adult disguises, and medicated them accordingly. It made writing the journals without letting Francis see them easier, though he knew that the constable would have to see them, eventually. That was something he kept putting off, usually after watching Francis sleep. He never let himself watch for long, that would have been untoward. When had he started worrying about something he did as being seen as perverse, anyway? 

He much rather preferred their evenings on the porch, listening to the local wildlife and sharing stories from their previous lives. Charles had not talked of his past with his colleagues since school, but with Francis, it seemed easy and natural. He still had not opened up about the occurrences over the past year, but after a week of their candid conversations, it did not seem completely off the table anymore.

He handed Francis his refilled tumbler of water, asking as he sat beside him, “What made you go to university before signing on with the RCMP?”

Francis’s chuckle was depreciating, “Mostly the scholarship, though there were a few relatives that thought it would help me make a better-informed decision of what I wanted to do with my life.”

“They didn't think search and rescue was a full-time job?” Charles mused.

“Most places, it’s not, but that also dovetailed into why I went to Depot. Around here, there’s just enough of the cottage people to warrant having a patrol of us on call full-time in the summer, and during the winter, there’s getting to be a need for air patrols for the environmental research in addition to the storm searches.” Francis adjusted his position, and sighed. “The detachment duties mean I've got stable employment in things I happen to do well, in addition to flying. It also keeps me flying fairly often, without having to manage the bookkeeping that running a charter service would demand.”

Charles gave a soft laugh, “First time I've heard of someone signing on with the police because it required _less_ paperwork.”

“Maybe not less overall paperwork, but definitely less bookkeeping. The classes I took for the business minor weren't a horrible experience, just tedious.” Francis chuckled again, “Besides, those classed turned out to be useful in my current work. Knowing the requirements for the charter companies factored into one of my first cases in my field training - but I’m still more comfortable in the field than in an office.”

“Huh,” Charles looked out at the stars, “I didn't mind being in the consultation office, but I can understand the desire to get away from the paperwork. The malpractice insurance forms alone could drive a man mad.” 

“What did you like best about your practice?” Francis asked with a small smile.

“I suppose it was the ability to help someone get closer to healthy. I’ll freely admit I’m not one to coddle a patient, which is why I didn't go into plastic surgery. Tch, a good living, that, but only if you can put up with the well-off idiots that desire physical perfection, and think that they can jump the queue ahead of the legitimate patients needing reconstructions. Nah, I was an emergency surgeon at first, and got invited into a general surgery practice by a classmate.” Charles shook his head, “It was fine until I started mixing socially with the other staffers. When they tell you ‘do not date co-workers’, it’s solid advice.”

A rueful chuckle from Francis startled Charles, as the young man responded, “True enough. It’s easier when you’re stationed in a large population, but some of the remote postings are so small, it’s a good thing I can usually fly, and get the most out of a holiday.” 

Charles frowned at a sudden thought, “I’m not keeping you away from someone who’d need to know you’re okay, am I?”

“No, I was able to contact my great aunt, and my grandmother, and that will insure the family knows I’m out of pocket and alive if not totally well.” Francis gave a half a shrug, “But there’s no light in the window for me.”

Charles murmured quietly, “You’re young yet, but don’t let the opportunity pass you by when you find someone. Regret is an uncomfortable companion.”

>>>>

Francis was uneasy in his sleep that night. Regret and reticence were already tumbling in his mind for control. His duty to protect the doctor meant he also should not fall for him, but since that seemed to be happening already, he could at least protect Charles from his poor timing. The need to get him to court without further damage was paramount. 

He had possibly also gotten used to the pain medication as the prescription wound down to the last doses. Drifting in and out of sleep as the twinges from his arm sharpened, he came fully awake at the sounds of distress came from the loft bed. He was sleeping across the doorway, so he was reasonably sure it was not a physical intruder. Carefully, he made his way up to the kitchen. Charles was twitching in his sleep, the barest hint of movement, as the noises became more strident. 

Softly calling, “Charles!” Francis touched the doctor’s ankle, ready to retreat if the reaction was violent.

“AH!” the doctor thrashed out of sleep, coiling inward instead to striking out. “What?” His ankle was drawn up under the blankets as Charles curled into a corner of the sleep loft.

Francis kept his voice soft, aware that the other man was still on a hair-trigger of panic. “You were shouting in your sleep.”

“Oh, sorry, I -” Charles rubbed his face, “still not used to being almost safe.”

“Almost?”

“They’re still out there.”

Francis nodded, “Yes, but they are not getting to you without going through me.” His quiet assurance seemed to catch Charles by surprise, but that was probably just the shock of a sudden awakening still causing him problems. Francis got his baser instincts to protect and comfort under control before he asked, “Are you all right? You sounded as if you were in pain before you got loud.” 

>>>>>

Charles fought to control his voice as he answered, “I don’t remember what it was, exactly,” Yes, yes he did remember, and that was why the blankets stayed bunched up in his lap. “Maybe it was a memory.” More like a wish.

“All right, then.” Francis’s voice was warm, as he asked, “Do you need anything to help you settle?”

“No, nothing,” was what Charles said, but _Nothing I can have_ was what he thought.

Francis paused, then responded, “Well then. Goodnight,” and he turned back to the lounge to sleep.

Listening for the younger man’s movements to stop, Charles slowly stretched out. His dreams had been exceptionally vivid tonight. The nightmares fueled by recent memories were still there, but now there was the aspect of Francis coming to his rescue in them, turning the nightmare into a good dream. Well, a good dream that veered into the script of an erotic film, one which might be banned in a few countries, never mind that Francis had not given him the slightest encouragement, or had been anything other than polite to him. Sure, he admitted to being single, but that was not an invitation.

Maybe it was just the fact that he was “almost safe” for the first time in months, but it still didn't stop him from wanting more. 

In the morning, Charles had to face the fact that he should turn in his testimony if there was a chance during their trip to the clinic. That meant Francis would find out the notebooks existed, and likely would need to read them. He put off discussing it until after breakfast.

>>>>

Francis put down the most recent volume of Charles’s statement a little bit before noon, breakfast sitting like a rock in his stomach. So far, the doctor had filled six notebooks with his testimony. When Charles had mentioned he was writing out everything he remembered from his captors, Francis had been eager to find out more about the drug traffickers. 

Roughly two-thirds of the information was invaluable to document the supply network for the drugs from the suppliers to the end buyers. What the other third of the notes detailed made the constable ill and furious at the same time. No one should have been subjected to the things described in the report.

Charles paused, looking up at Francis, his face creased in worry, “Ah, no lad - don’t look at it like that.”

“Like what?” Francis answered, but his voice was strained.

“Like I just drank poison.” Charles put down his pen, “the poison was ingested a while ago, this is the purge to let the antidote work.” Putting aside the notebook he had been writing in, he continued, “I survived long enough to give my statements. That’s one way to me to fight them, to keep it from happening again to someone else. You are helping me to get to court to testify, and that’s another front I can fight them on. But I canna do this alone, and you need to know what has gone on before.”

Francis nodded, “I ought to have gotten you to the clinic sooner than tomorrow.”

“It’s been months since… well, since I was last in control,” the doctor shrugged, “There was only so much I could do to mitigate the damage. The delay of a week to get to the clinic is not going to make that much of a difference, really. Especially considering it means me being totally out of sight makes it easier for you to protect me.” Charles gently took the notebook from Francis, setting it aside with the others. “You need to eat something with your next dose.” 

Francis managed to control his revulsion for eating anything at the moment, knowing Charles was right, and nodded, “Just a little soup, maybe. Then sleep, if I can. It’s going to be a long drive tonight.” Now that he knew what had happened to the doctor during his captivity, Francis strengthened his resolve to not presume to push himself into Charles’s physical space. 

Even if he did still want to comfort him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is driving, an uncomfortable telephone call, and breakfast.

“I’m hoping we can use the cottage after the trip to the clinic, but just in case,” Francis said as he packed his bag from the laundry.

Charles nodded as he took a last swipe at the shower, “Are you done with your clothes? I’d like to wash the sheets before we go.”

Francis grinned, but with a worried wrinkle between his brows, “I can’t decide if you’re being a good guest or an experienced hand with removing evidence of residence.”

“A bit of both, but I definitely don’t want to get on the bad side of your aunt,” then Charles sighed, “and you saw what I wrote about how they got the cottages they kept me in. True enough that they picked the ones that were likely abandoned, but being this close to the crash site, they could still manufacture a break-in to investigate,” he shrugged, then wiggled his latex-covered hands at Francis. “That’s why I’m cleaning with gloves,” 

As they packed up the last of the things to go, Charles argued with Francis until he gave in to the plan of sharing the drive. He had not wanted to switch off driving, but it became clear that a repeat of the trip out was not a good idea, even with a week of healing. Loading the truck with all of their gear had worn him out, as little of it as there was. 

Charles found some tact and did not mention how fatigued Francis looked, and instead tried a logical option. “After all, we’re going to leave after full dark, it’ll be harder for anyone to see the driver. Besides, you still need to rest that arm.” 

“This is dire straits, or I’d not let you drive without your identification,” from the way his head was nodding, Francis was having trouble staying awake as he finished loading the directions into the phone and clipped it to the truck’s sun visor. “Follow the limits, okay?”

“Got it,” Charles kept his arguments about driving invisibly to himself, knowing Francis would struggle to keep up his end of the conversation.

Hours later, he woke Francis with a nudge to his knee, “Crossing that bridge you mentioned, and dawn looks to be breaking.”

“Right,” Francis pulled himself awake with visible effort, “making the call,” and somehow managed to fumble the phone to the right number, but he was not aware he was on speaker mode. “Hey, Nana? Sorry to call so early, but I need to ask you to open the garage for the truck.”

“I can be out there when you drive in,” she responded, but Francis interrupted.

“No, I have to ask you to stay in the house and not watch the driveway.”

After a few seconds’ pause, she said, “Sister’s going to be upset to find out the boyfriend you took to the cottage was actually an assignment from work.”

Charles managed to not make a sound as he processed the multitudes of information that one sentence could deliver. 

Francis groaned, “I know, I know, she’s hoping for a miracle. Just promise you can turn a blind eye to the drive and the garage for the next hour?”

“I’ll leave the door open for you. Take care.”

“Thanks, Nana,” Francis then lowered the phone, and began to blush when he realized the phone had been on speaker mode when he turned it off. “Oh.”

Charles chuckled softly, “A rather strange and chaste courtship, this past week.”

“I didn't realize Aunt Ellen would take it that way, when I asked to use the cottage.” Francis’s blush was fading slightly, relaxing a bit. “It does mean the rest of the family will avoid the cottage for the duration, though.”

“So, as long as everyone _else_ avoids it, we could go back,” Charles commented as he signaled to turn off the highway.

“Hmm, would be nice, but we’ll see what the reports say tonight,” Francis murmured, relaxing into the passenger seat again. “You all right for the last couple-dozen klicks?”

“I’ll be fine, but breakfast in the next hour wouldn't hurt. You’ll need to eat something with either option for your pain control.” Charles growled, “I’d drive the rest of the way if it were sensible, but I know _my_ limits.”

Francis gave a small and sleepy giggle, “One of us should,” and nodded off again.

Charles let out a breath he did not know he had been holding. _A rather strange and chaste courtship, indeed,_ he thought. He’d meant it to be a way to defuse the uncomfortable assumption the aunt had made. The part where he realized he _did_ want to properly court Francis was a little surprising. A pick-up in a bar did not seem a likely connection with the constable’s habits of concerts at the concert hall or the coffee houses when he was at university. Charles had done the season tickets for the usual symphony and opera companies, when he was in practice, but fondly remembered the clubs of _his_ university days. 

_Upwardly mobile doctors do not go slumming at dodgy clubs until they are celebrities,_ a voice from his past echoed in his head. Charles shook off the chill of that memory. As if he had wanted to be “upwardly mobile”; that was all Dylan’s ambition. 

He shook his head, keeping his eyes on the road, banishing the memory. Here and now, there were more things at stake than his social reputation. His professional standing and his physical safety were in danger, though he had more useful help than a shrewish fiancee. Charles spared a glance for his passenger, and smiled. _At least this time, I’m not running without a direction or guidance._

Francis began to stir as Charles turned into the drive, and asked, “Already?”

“Mm, I just pull into the open space?”

“Yeah, we’ll transfer the stuff to the staff car and figure out a way for you to ride in the trunk safely.” Francis was rubbing his eyes awake.

Pulling into the open spot, Charles set the brake, then yelped when he saw someone in the rear-view mirror. Francis twisted, pulling a pistol from his jacket pocket, then grimaced, “Nana, I asked…”

She scowled at them, “And you thought I was going to let you and your friend stop by without feeding you breakfast?” She stepped up to the driver’s side window, “Nancy Beardmore, glad to meet a friend of my grandson’s, and that’s my story if the local constables come by again.” Charles’s smile congealed, and she patted his arm, “Calm down, and bring in your bags. The scones will be out of the oven in a few minutes,” then she turned to the door to the house.

“Well,” Charles tilted his head, “she isn't one to beat around the bush, is she?” He took in Francis’s expression, and asked, “Did you pull your arm the wrong way?”

“No, it’s just… I didn't want her to get involved, if I could help it.” Francis got out of the truck and shouldered his bag. “I mean, parking an unmarked police vehicle outside the cottage would have raised a flag to the people we’re trying to avoid.”

As they stepped into the main house, Charles inhaled reverently. “Oh, if she has given you the recipe for those scones, I’ll follow you anywhere.”

>>>>

Francis paused at the threshold, trying to control his reaction, before he replied, “I’ll see if I can remember it next week. Washroom is through there, I’ll go see what else Nana has cooking.” His voice seemed okay, from Charles’s lack of reaction. 

He crossed the kitchen, and his grandmother said softly, “He is a friend, isn't he.” Her tone did not make it a question.

“He… I’d like him to be. We’ll have to see what the next year brings,” he put his bag on the settle by the door. “Right now, he’s my responsibility, and I need to make sure he’s taken care of, properly.”

She turned out the scones into the breadbasket, “He’s a bit conspicuous in those city clothes, you know.”

Francis nodded, “I haven’t been able to get to a store to replace his clothes. He’s been washing them when I sleep.”

“He looks to be about the size of your grandfather. I’ll see what I can find that he can borrow,” she said as Charles entered the kitchen.

“Anything I can do to help?” he asked, checking the kettle.

“Sit, eat, and if you were driving all night, you’re going to need a nap,” she said, putting a cup of tea in his hands and pushing him towards the kitchen table. Once the two were seated, she brought out bacon, tomatoes, apple pie, and home fries before she asked, “Eggs. How many and what style?”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is luncheon.

“Good lord, that’s what she serves for breakfast with only thirty minutes’ notice?” Charles groaned as he settled on the davenport. 

“I think it was from her years with the fire department, and them not knowing if they would be called out during meals,” Francis stretched out in the lounger, fidgeting to get comfortable. Though he was well-rested, the pain prescription was taking him under again. Suddenly, there was a pillow supporting his elbow, and Charles was covering him with the spare blanket.

“I’m glad you’re to see your doctor soon,” Charles’s frown did not make him seem angry, merely concerned, and while Francis enjoyed the concern, he still wanted to… his medications were making him very loopy, making it difficult to focus on what Charles was saying. “I still think you might have moved too quickly this morning,” 

Francis smiled as he settled in, Charles tucking him in. “You sleep too, Charles.” He would be happy to get off the pain medications, even if he understood the need to let the muscles around the fracture rest. He did not like his internal censor going on vacation when the prescriptions made him loopy. “Time to sleep, li'l baby.” Yes, like that. 

>>>>

Charles did not quite catch what Francis was singing under his breath as he dozed off, but the melody was sweet, and the younger man had a good voice.

He curled up on the davenport, watching Francis sleep until he dropped off as well. How different his past year would have been if, instead of going bar-hopping with the interns, he had accepted the tickets to the concert. No guarantee that he would have met Francis that night, but maybe he would not have been pulled in so completely. _Ah, well - if wishes were Porsches, beggars would drive._

He dreamed of meeting Francis a rave with a chamber orchestra providing the music and horses as bouncers. 

>>>>

Francis was able to wake up after an hour, another sign that he had been on the prescription more than long enough. He covered Charles with the blanket; the doctor seemed to be getting restful sleep, without nightmares, so Francis felt secure in getting a shower while his charge slept. After shaving off a week’s worth of beard, he went in search of his grandmother.

Even with her head and shoulders deep in the cedar closet, she asked when he entered the storeroom, “Have a nice nap?”

“Since I can’t see the back of your head, does this mean grandmothers have eyes in their…”

“Stop right there, young man,” she warned him. Backing out of the closet, she was carrying a bundle of flannel shirts and dungarees.

“Are those clothes you can spare? I’m not sure when I’ll be able to return them, with things being so up in the air with Charles’s status being,” he began, but she interrupted him.

“Don’t tell me anything else about him. Far as anyone is concerned, that’s your new boyfriend. If it turns out to be wrong later, it’s a foolish old woman’s wishful thinking.” She handed him half of the stack. 

“Lot of that going around,” he responded, and thought, _and not just the matriarchs wishing, either._ Pushing down the hope, Francis looked over the tags, “I think you’re right about these fitting him.”

“Not sure any of your granddad’s boots that would fit him. Mine would be a better fit, if you plan on any long hikes through the woods.” Nana chuckled, “My heels would fit him, but not any of my skirts.”

“You have skirts and heels?” he feigned surprise.

She swatted him on his good arm, “You know I do, I drag them out for every graduation and wedding.”

“Mnh, no,” Francis shook his head, clearing it of the vision of Charles sporting the tie-dyed sundress his grandmother wore to his graduation from Depot, “Besides, the lines of your style wouldn't suit him, anyway.”

“Get him some proper boots when you get the chance. Those boat shoes of his have seen better days,” She pulled out a weekender pack, and began to load it with the trousers and shirts. “He’s likely to want new skivvies, but I can give you a couple pairs of socks. Of course, if anyone asks, I’ll just as likely tell them that he’s regimental by habit.”

“Oh, for - nobody asks that sort of thing, Nana!” Francis said in exasperation, blushing.

She grinned, “You haven’t met my book club.”

>>>>

Charles woke slowly, dimly aware that he was comfortable, and safe. As consciousness returned, he amended that to very comfortable, and mostly safe. He opened his eyes to see Francis awake and reading the paper in the chair. The savory scent of herbs and cheese baking brought him fully awake, with a groan.

Francis folded the paper, “All right, there?” 

“I shouldn't be hungry again after that breakfast, but the aromas from the kitchen are too tempting.” Charles sat up, stretching. He frowned at his sweater, pulled out of shape and stained in spite of his efforts to clean it in the past week. “Any chance that we can stop somewhere to get a change of clothes?

“My grandmother pulled together a few items you might be able to wear, good for rambling around the rivers around here.” Francis nodded to the clothes stacked on the end table, “We might have to pick up some things, but there’s a couple of stores we might be able to stop in without being noticed.”

“It’s been a while since I shopped for hiking gear, and that was across The Pond.” He rubbed his face, squinting at Francis, “I suppose I should follow your lead and shave before we go into town.”

“Well, you could,” Francis quietly demurred, “I always feel odd going in to the detachment unshaven, but that’s a personal thing. If you trimmed your beard, you wouldn't look like you were out in the wild for months, and at the same time, you wouldn't look like your identification file photo.”

Charles barely restrained himself from chuckling, and shrugged, “You like the beard? I’ll keep the beard.” Sorting through the clothes in the stack saved him from giving the younger man a significant look and making a big deal of his statement. After a few moments he had selected a few items, then headed for the bath. He shouldn't tease, but sometimes Francis made it all too easy.

>>>>

Francis waited in the den until he could get his blush under control before wandering into the kitchen and setting the table for lunch. He had not quite been conscious of the intent under his rationalization for Charles to not shave, until the doctor had made it a statement of aesthetics and personal preference. 

_I am in deep, **deep** trouble_ , he thought.

His grandmother made no comment about his quiet mood, but after a few minutes of working silently together, she asked, “Will you need the truck again, soon?”

“I don’t know. It depends on how long,” he cleared his throat, “how long we get to stay out on holiday.” Francis still tried to hold to the fiction that his grandmother did not know Charles was anything but a friend, her comments during this morning’s telephone call to the contrary. “I’ll call if we need to stop by again.” 

He turned in time to see Charles enter, a changed man. Trimming his full beard to a neat length had definitely changed his looks, and he had apparently found a hair-tie, binding his long hair into a workman’s ponytail. Francis did not recognize the clothes, but denim and chambray suited the doctor much better than the now over-sized trousers and sweater he had worn when he escaped.

_“Trouble” does not even **begin** to cover this situation._

>>>>

Charles managed to get through lunch with only a minor case of the weirds. Except for that one comment she had made in the garage about sticking to the story for the local police, Nancy Beardmore was treating Charles like he actually _was_ a new beau to her grandson. She kept her questions to the average sort general background queries that any family member might ask in that scenario. That was, until she found out he was a surgeon with experience in trauma care; then they were trading emergency services stories back and forth, his from the Glasgow years and her tales of forest fire handcrew service. 

Francis kept quiet, not answering anything but the questions directed to him, and Charles noticed when the young man could not defer the answer to him, the answer was often vague, followed by a question that would lead into another story from either of them. 

On the other hand, every time he looked to him, Francis was watching him with a small smile with just a touch of disbelief in his expression. It took all of lunch for Charles to understand that Francis was not having problems believing his stories, but that he was having problems believing Charles was opening up and actually _answering_ all of Nan’s questions.

And when did he start calling Francis’s grandmother _Nan_? It made sense, a bridge between her first name and her family title, but he couldn't remember her instructing him to call her that, or even consciously deciding to give her that nickname. The fact she did not correct him or even seem uncomfortable with the nickname was interesting as well.

He kept himself from freaking out while loading their bags into the car, with Nan fussing over them both. Charles managed to get a quiet word with Francis as she was loading a box full of vegetables from her garden into the boot, “So I’m not riding in the boot, after all?”

Francis looked pained, “Not now, and I wasn't comfortable with that plan to begin with.” He handed Charles a worn baseball cap.

“Hm, I’m wearing different clothes, cleaned up and not hiding, I think I know where you’re going with this,” he put on the cap to shade his eyes, noticing Francis was wearing that quiet smile again. _Much better, I like that smile_ , Charles thought, and he could not help smiling in return. 

“I’m pretty sure we can get through fine for now,” Francis paused as his grandmother approached them. “Thanks for letting us hang out here, Nana.”

“Call when you can, and take care,” she hugged Francis, being careful of his arm, and then surprised Charles by hugging him without pause. “Be careful, both of you.”

Francis had not said another word as they drove away, but by the time they reached the highway, Charles murmured, “You haven’t brought anyone home in a long time, have you?”

“Not since university,” Francis confirmed.

“You had a bad visit?” Somehow, Charles doubted that, with the way Nan had been towards him.

Francis shook his head, “No need since then.”

And of all the stories they had shared over the past week, that was the most depressing thing Charles had heard since he met Francis.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is much to report, and much to consider.

Pulling into the lot behind the clinic, Francis noticed an extra shadow by the back door, shielded from the road by the detachment building. He tensed, preparing to peel out of the lot, when the lurker lit their pipe, illuminating his face just long enough for Francis to identify his supervisor.

“Who is that?” Charles asked warily.

Francis cut his eyes over to Charles, noting his tension, “Anyone you recognize?”

“No, I was hoping you did, though,” Charles scrunched down in his seat.

“My supervisor,” Francis said as he pulled into a shadowed spot in the car park. “I didn't think he was involved with the group that held you, but with what you told me, I was not totally sure.” He eased out of the car, nodding to the corporal, “Sir.”

Corporal Stanislaw was in civvies, and returned the nod, “Take your gear inside, we’ll be switching vehicles after your appointment.” As Charles got out of the car, Ken swiftly put out his pipe, muttering urgently, “Never mind. Inside, now.” As soon as the door was shut behind the three of them, he asked, “What the heck are you doing?”

Francis put his hand on Charles’s shoulder, “Giving a… friend a lift to the clinic, hoping the doc can manage a walk-in tonight.”

“Must be urgent,” Doctor Chamberlain said from her office door. “Come in, friend of Francis, I got an opening in the schedule.”

>>>>

Entering the office with the doctor, Charles started to apologize, “I hope this won’t make you late for anything you had planned…”

“Not a problem, Mr Smith,” Dr Chamberlain waved him over to the examination table. “What can I do for you?” She sat, poised to take notes with her tablet.

Charles raised an eyebrow at the name the doctor supplied, and waited for the door to close fully before he spoke, “I haven’t seen a medical professional in the past year. In that time, I did not have access to proper exercise or nutrition.” He took a deep breath before continuing, “I was also assaulted, physically and sexually, in several incidents over the past year. I’m afraid that it’s too late for the kit, it wouldn't be valid, since the last assault was over two weeks ago, but I’ll need a full STI panel, and,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “the way I was feeling over the last couple of months, I probably need the full work-up.”

Dr Chamberlain nodded, now very serious, “Let’s get your full clinical history before your examination, just for proper documentation.”

>>>>

With the door to the examining room closed, the corporal nodded back to the exit, “ _Now_ we can get your gear.” The worked without speaking, and once they were in the corporal’s office, he asked, “So, what cover are you using for him?”

“We went to ground, holing up off the grid,” Francis shifted uncomfortably, “I haven’t _exactly_ formulated a cover, sir.”

“Humph, not _exactly_ , you say. Knowing you, it’s likely a chance comment that grew into a story,” Stanislaw grumbled. “Out with it - what are we fertilizing?”

“I called my great aunt to check something, mentioning I had a friend with me. She, ah, made an assumption, sir.” Francis shifted his gaze to the wall behind his supervisor, bracing for the reaction. “My family might be, er, could have been told he and I are, well, dating.” Much as he fought it, there was no suppressing his rising blush.

Stanislaw sat back in his chair, looking thoughtful. “He know about that?” At Francis’s mute nod, Ken asked, “He alright with that?”

“He seemed,” Francis shrugged, keeping his tone even, “amused,” and that helped kill the last of the embarrassing flush to his face. _Amused is at least not offended, or enraged,_ he thought. _Not entirely **flattering** , but I should be used to that by now._

In an eerie echo of his thoughts, the corporal said, “At least he wasn't openly pissed off by the assumption.” Stanislaw studied him for a moment, fingers tapping out a complex sequence on the desk blotter. By the time Francis figured out it was a Peart solo and not a code, the corporal spoke, “You've been known for thinking pretty quick on your feet, MacKenzie. This time, you might have also managed a reasonable organic cover.”

“Logic would indicate so, sir.” Francis was not happy or proud about it, but the story would probably hold, if they had to run with it. They just had to convince Charles to play along. 

“Far be it from me to meddle in your private life,” Stanislaw leaned forward on the table, lowering his voice, “but to be honest, if you take out his involvement with the Winnipeg Double-Dozen,” he raised a hand to forestall Francis’s rebuttal, “which, according to the current intelligence, is looking to be involuntary, his background checks out cleaner than your last couple of boyfriends.”

“You've been doing background checks on my companions?” Francis’s eyes snapped back to his supervisor’s face.

“Seemed prudent after that embezzler tried to get you to let him go.” He leaned back again, “With that involvement considered, though,” the corporal shrugged, “it just looks like you've got a type.”

Francis shut his eyes, “Not on purpose, sir.”

“Yeah, I know, but we may need to lean on that later. Look, we’ll talk more about this after I debrief him and you have your session with Doc Chamberlain, and see what else we need to get into.”

“Yes, sir. He may,” Francis stilled, “well, he indicated he is willing to turn king’s evidence without the promise of immunity from prosecution.”

“Not our call, MacKenzie, but we’ll document his cooperation to its full extent, no problem there.” Stanislaw settled his shoulders, and continued, “If it gets out on the grapevine that he’s your detail, you may need to take him to headquarters, but for now, I’d prefer having the both of you in the wind.”

_Meaning he doesn't want to have to explain why we didn't contact the locals_ , Francis thought, _even as he is helping bury them in paperwork_. He nodded, “Anything new this week on the break-in at my flat?”

“The usual stuff missing, textbook case,” he shrugged, “This does not comfort me, considering what I suspect about the Double-Dozen being more than a two-four. The report for insurance was released this morning,” Stanislaw pulled the appropriate folder from his desk, “Might as well go ahead and file it with your agent now, while you have access.”

>>>>

“Luckily, I am not finding any permanent damage from the assaults, Mr. Smith,” Dr Chamberlain nodded as she turned from him to input the new findings, indicating he could get dressed again. “I’ll have a better idea when the lab work comes back, but staying away from high-fat foods was a good start. Did you have any other concerns?”

“We covered the ones about my health already, but I was worried about Francis’s arm,” Charles shrugged on his shirt, “Lately he has been resting it, but within forty-eight hours of the shooting, he drove a manual transmission vehicle.”

Without turning around, she asked, “How far?” Then held up her hand, “Approximately! I don’t want know where you two were, exactly.”

“More than three hundred kilometers, less than four,” Charles responded. “He skipped three doses of his pain meds to do it, as well. He has not been complaining about pain, but he’s also not been able to hide it well, and I've had to make sure he took his prescription as often as it directed. Now, I know I can’t ask if that’s normal for him, but I thought you should know.”

Dr Chamberlain chuckled, “and doesn't _that_ sound like most of the member’s spouses when they call in. You’ll do.”

“Nothing I can do about that until I’m feeling like myself again,” Charles said, then murmured under his breath, “and definitely not going to start anything until those lab tests come back negative.” 

She continued as if she had not heard his mutterings, “As to that unsettled feeling, I don’t want to start mucking about with your chemistries until we get the labs back, and see if you still have nutritional deficiencies. Your blood pressure is a bit high, of course, but I’d like to check it again in a week or so to make sure. Probably will need to see you at one of the satellite clinics, depending on the schedule. Until then, there are a few things I want you to use for the deeper bruises. I’ll have a bag of samples for you when you leave.” 

The doctor escorted Charles to the corporal’s office, and waited after she knocked, “Just in case they’re working on something we don't need to know about.”

Francis opened the door, with an expression that balanced between worried and resigned. “Just in time, we needed to log in your notebooks.”

“ _You_ need to go with Doc and let her work you over,” the supervisor said. “I can take his statement well enough.” Francis’s expression shifted a little more towards worried, and the corporal growled, “For the love of Mike, I’m not going to hurt him, go on.” The older man made a loose shooing motion with one hand and indicated a chair for Charles with the other.

Once the door closed, he said, “Ken Stanislaw, and you’re probably John Smith, according to the pattern Doc uses for naming unknowns.” He turned to the file credenza that held a kettle, “You want tea? I need some.” 

“Thanks, black, two,” Charles murmured. He had heard the corporal’s name before, as someone the gang made sure to avoid. However, he didn't quite relax, realizing that he hadn't offered his name before Francis had left. Scanning the walls, there was a commendation for Kenneth Stanislaw from the RCAF, and the guy in the office was in most of the group photos, so there was some support.

“I won’t ask you where you've been, and as far as anyone not currently in the building knows, you were never here,” the officer said as he handed over the tea. 

“So I’m already a ghost?” Unnerving to think about his public persona being dead, because it would make it too easy to have his body match without a big fuss being made.

“Nah, hoping to keep you from becoming one, though.” Stanislaw heaved a sigh as he dropped into his chair. “I got a bare bones report from MacKenzie, but I’m going to need to go over what you know.”

Charles’s chest turned to ice. He **so** did not want to get into what had happened over the past year, not this soon. Dr Chamberlain had helped with the clinical distance to discuss what had been done to him, but this officer did not seem to be that detached from the case. “Did you bring in the box of books from the car?” At Stanislaw’s nod, Charles continued, “Those books have everything I've been able to,” he paused, getting the shaking under control before continuing, “able to remember about what went on.”

Raising his eyebrows, Stanislaw walked over to the pile of duffel bags, and retrieved the box, putting it on his desk. Opening the notebook on top, he flipped quickly though the first few pages. “All right, your handwriting is surprisingly legible.” Looking at the front cover, he asked, “You still got your pen with you?” 

Charles rummaged in the box, coming up with one, while the corporal pulled a statement form from the files, “We need you to write this statement,” Stanislaw tapped the affidavit paragraph of the form, “in the front cover of each of these, affirming this written statement and attesting to the veracity or accuracy of facts as you know them in the document, and we'll go from there.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is traveling, mild displays and a timely warning.

It was near midnight when they finally left the detachment, with Francis driving, and Charles was trying to not doze off in the passenger seat. He had a new driver’s license in his pocket, for John Charles Smith, made just a few hours ago, so Francis could not argue with him about sharing the driving tasks, but other than his short nap at Nan’s, he had been awake for more than thirty hours.

The vehicle was a panel van, luckily an automatic transmission this time, kitted out as a camper. As dark as the car park was with the lights out and the moon already set, Charles had been unable to see what color it was, though there was some sort of mural on the side. The hint of patchouli incense inside the van made him think the artwork was probably something out of a head trip.

Their gear had been easy to stow away, fitting it around the camping equipment already in the van. Charles recognized the cooler Nan had packed for them, tucked in with another insulated carrier. Looked like they were in for another week without contact with the rest of the world. As Charles thought about that, he decided he had no objections to that plan.

He also had not objected to the cover story that the corporal had suggested, that they pose as a couple on vacation. He had soberly nodded and kept up the concerned facade, telling them that yes, he could handle going along with that story, all the while thinking, _Oh please, Corporal Fox, please don't throw me into the briar patch._ Stanislaw had told them to check in at some place Charles did not recognize, but Francis had just nodded, and Charles trusted him to get them there. He trusted Francis with a lot more than making sure they made it to next week. 

“Charles,” Francis’s quiet voice startled him awake.

“Hu? I’m fine,” he surreptitiously stretched, wincing at the small sounds of crepitus in his neck.

“Go stretch out in back,” the younger man said softly. “No need to put a crick in your neck when there’s a place to lie down properly.”

“Yeah, all right, but wake me when you need to take a break.” Charles stepped between the front seats, sliding past the coolers and into the bed. The double mattress at the rear of the cargo area was new enough to not smell musty, and he wondered as he drifted off whose whoopie wagon they’d been given as a getaway vehicle.

>>>>

Francis sighed in relief as Charles settled into the van’s bed. The day had been stressful enough for both of them, and at least one of them should get some rest. If he were honest with himself, he had been terrified that when confronted with the cover story, Charles would react negatively. Instead, he seemed to accept it without a twitch. 

He was not quite sure how _he_ felt about it. Rather than maintaining his distance, there was some expectation that, at least in public, he would make displays of affection. His face heated again, as he quashed the desire to take the two of them to the heavily travelled tourist attractions in the area, just to have the excuse to touch.

He turned the van to the east, headed towards Lake Cielnoir, hoping to get there when the gates opened, and that they had an open campsite. Francis overestimated his abilities, though and had to stop in the early dawn hour. The old general store turned sporting goods shop and diner was still where he remembered it, and he gratefully pulled into the mostly empty parking lot. 

Carefully stepping to the back of the van, he saw that the bed had been made up to put the sleeper’s heads to the center of the van instead of towards the rear doors. He gently touched Charles on the shoulder to wake him, “Charles, we've stopped for breakfast.” 

This time there was not a great shock when Charles woke up, just a groaning sigh as he rolled to his back, a sound that made Francis’s thoughts go places they had no business being in while he was on duty. The sleepy smile Charles gave him when the older man opened his eyes was not helping, either.

“Morning,” Charles’s voice was heavy with sleep, and he stretched, with his hand coming to rest at Francis’s knee. “You look tired, did you drive all night?”

Francis was unable to speak immediately, his tongue seemed stuck behind his teeth as he had to restrain himself from crawling into bed with the doctor, but nodded, and eventually managed, “I-I’m okay. There’s a camp store with a restaurant here, just opening in a few minutes.”

“Mm, sounds good,” Charles sat up and turned about on the bed, his feet landing between Francis’s where he stood, “Then you can let me drive after breakfast.” He tilted his head back to smile up at Francis where he stood stooped over in the center of the van.

“I-I’ll go see how soon the k-kitchen is open,” Francis stuttered as he backed away to the front seats, blushing furiously.

The store had just opened, and the elderly couple puttering about were the same ones Francis remembered from the family trips to the parks. As he passed through the store to the facilities, it wrapped him in a layer of familiarity. The store itself had not changed much since the last time he was here, in his late childhood. There were new solar chargers and GPS units on the shelves, but they also still carried the old-school explorer’s equipment. 

Francis stepped up to the counter, peering into the kitchen, when a voice behind him said, “Be soon for breakfast, m’grandson is the cook these days.” He turned to face the proprietor, who grinned, “I can’t handle the equipment so well anymore with my arthritis, but he’s good.”

“Thank you, my timing on this trip has been a little off, but better to get here just before the kitchen opens than to arrive just after it closed for the night,” Francis said, and his stomach chimed in with a growl.

The elderly man chuckled, “I can at least manage some tea while he gets set up.” 

>>>>

 _That was an interesting reaction_ , Charles thought as he pulled on his dungarees, having seen the blush Francis had sported when he got to the front of the van. He layered a chambray shirt over the t-shirt he had slept in, and slipped on his shoes. _Though I suppose he didn't expect me to wake up well, after that time at the cottage._

Rummaging in his pack for the wash bag he had gotten from the detachment, he mused over the constable’s actions. When in the presence of his supervisor, Francis had seemed to hide behind a mask of a military man at a Royal inspection. Though when they were alone, Charles had the impression he was still not completely open, but it was not so much that Francis was trying to keep his distance, as he was on duty. He wondered if he would be able to see Francis relax anytime soon.

Retying his hair back gave him a slightly more reputable appearance, as much as he could see in the side mirror of the van. Charles made a face at his reflection, but he recognized the impulse to make a good impression, for Francis’s benefit. He grabbed his wash bag, and headed inside.

>>>>

A cheery “Morning, Granfa!” came from the back of the kitchen as Charles entered the front door, and made his way to Francis. This time the constable did not try to hide his smile as the doctor approached him.

He did manage to conceal his surprise when Charles looped an arm around his waist, and murmured, “I’ll be right back. Order tea, egg and toast for me?”

Giving in to impulse, he kissed Charles on the forehead, “Yes, go on, I’ll take care of it.” If his voice carried more than a hint of intimacy, he hoped Charles would attribute it to his skills as a policeman undercover.

The proprietor came to the counter with a cuppa, and asked, “Where you two headed?”

Taking a much needed sip of tea, Francis responded, “Nopiming, hoping to do some canoeing on Ceilnoir.”

“Ah, do you have reservations there?” The elderly man leaned his elbow on the counter in a casual stance.

“No, but I hoped the extra custom from the holiday had dropped off by now,” Francis frowned. They could go to any of the campgrounds in the area, but he had wanted to go to the nice, quiet campground that he remembered.

“Oh, they likely have quite a few prime spots on the lake this weekend,” the old man’s tone was quiet, almost that of a conspirator, “and legally, there’s nothing keeping you from going there. But the park manager is… not an ally, ye’ken?” He thumbed at his collar, drawing Francis’s attention to the lapel pin, depicting the Maple Leaf flag crossed with the PFLAG standard. 

“Ah, good to know, then,” Francis nodded, “What would be a good alternative, in your opinion?”

“Birds Hill is open, family and couple friendly, but they aren't crowded, since they were closed for construction last year,” then the proprietor winked, “and my daughter-in-law is the manager there.”

Francis chuckled quietly, “That’s the best recommendation, then.”

Charles joined him at the counter, again sliding his arm around Francis’s waist, and murmured, “Y sont d`abord avec nous?”

“Oui, mon cher,” this time Francis wrapped his arm around Charles’s shoulder before he kissed him on the temple, and murmured, “I didn’t know tu parler joual.”

“Only enough to get into trouble, mon chum,” he chuckled.

"That my be useful later," Francis said quietly into Charles's ear.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a campsite to set up, and an unpleasant flashback.

Breakfast was quiet, in part because even with good tea to wake him, Francis was worn thin from the drive. He was not quite steady when they stood up, but Charles was there lean into. “Sorry, I guess I’m a bit tired.”

“Yes, because you let me sleep in,” Charles guided him back to his seat. “Think you can stay awake long enough for me to find a pair of good hiking boots?”

“One more cup, and I’ll be alright,” Francis squeezed his hand.

“You’ll be fine because I’ll be driving,” Charles shot back. “Drink your tea,” he said, gruffly, then kissed Francis on the nose, “I’ll just be a few minutes.” 

Settling up the bill for breakfast, Francis smiled wearily at the elderly woman who took his expense card. She compared the name on the card and his identification, “Francis MacKenzie?” She looked a little closer at him, “You favor one of the families that stops through in the spring, any relation to Aylmer MacKenzie?”

Francis gave a small nod, “My father.”

“Oh, my word, you’re _that_ Francis? Goodness, the years have flown!” She smiled and nodded to the shelves where Charles had found some suitable hiking boots, “And done well for yourself.”

Francis blushed and ducked his head, “Just good luck, ma’am.”

“Aye, my good luck to find him,” Charles said as he approached the counter with his purchases, putting his arm around Francis’s waist again.

Francis leaned gently into Charles, “Shared good luck.”

>>>>

The mural on the side of the van was not lurid, just an arctic spring meadow scene by moonlight, so there was not a great likelihood that they would be that obvious on the highway, or so Charles argued as he took the keys from Francis. Driving away, Charles waited until they were on the highway before muttering, “You weren't supposed to take the brace off yet, were you?”

“It was only for a few hours,” Francis said, his fatigue showing clearly in his voice as he put the brace back on, “and that’s as much as I’m supposed do at a stretch this week. We were noticeable enough to the staff here, anyway. I’m to wear it to sleep, too.”

“I can find the way to the campground, why don’t you sleep until then?” Charles tried to use a persuasive tone, but it still carried a bit of a growl.

Francis chuckled, “If I lay down, I’ll be out for hours, and I need to be awake to check in at the camp. I promise, after we set up camp, I’ll sleep.”

Charles corrected him, “Once we check in, you will sleep while I set up camp.” Never mind that he had not been camping since that one disastrous backpacking trip during the summer holidays while he was at university, he was going to make sure Francis rested soon.

True enough, once they got to their campsite, Francis tried to help set up camp, and Charles retaliated by stealing his boots and running them up the oddly-yet-conveniently-placed flagpole. “Get your brace back on and **sleep**. I can handle this.” Charles scolded him, adding _I hope_ , in the deepest recesses of his thoughts. 

He decided to wait on putting up the sun shade, as it was a two-person job, but he did get the chairs out, set up the cooking equipment, laid the fire in the campsite's permanent fire pit for later, and retrieved Francis’s boots. When he looked over the campsite he realized something that many families who used camping vehicles knew; when they were going to be sleeping in the van anyway, setting up camp was not that difficult. 

Charles finally put the bear bag up the pole when one of the campground staff stopped by on patrol, and explained exactly what the pole _was_ to the expatriate doctor. “We haven’t had any sightings here this season, but there’s always a first time,” the young man pointed out the section of the camp rules regarding food and other bear lures to Charles. “If we maintain the safety rules, it’s less likely they’ll show up.” He also assisted Charles in putting up the sun shade, and pointed out the paths to the bath house and the lake shore before going on about his patrol.

>>>>

Francis woke just after noon to find Charles reading the safety pamphlet they had been given at the check in. “Sleep well?” the doctor asked.

“Mmn,” Francis blinked and smiled, “almost caught up.”

“How do you feel about grilled chicken tonight?” Charles went to the van, pulling the food boxes out, “Whoever did the shopping for us leaned to the carnivorous.”

“It wasn't Dr Chamberlain, then,” Francis chuckled. “She’s been a vegetarian as long as she’s been assigned to the detachment.”

In an undertone to Francis while he sorted through the box of vegetables, Charles muttered, “Speaking of the doctor, since you aren't supposed to be out of the arm immobilizer full time yet, are you okay with telling people it was a rotator cuff repair instead of a gunshot wound?”

Francis focused over Charles’s shoulder, smiling and nodding to a group of giggling and shouting children accompanied by their parents, walking to the lake. “I was going to ask you about that. How long ago did I have the surgery?” Francis murmured back, as he reached out to caress Charles’s ear.

Charles leaned into Francis’s hand, with his eyes closed, and sighed, “Two weeks ago, keep the timeline the same.” Then he opened his eyes to smile at Francis, “The scars from the arthroscopic surgical instruments are about the same,” murmured in a tone that Francis had never heard during a medical consultation, causing the younger man to blush.

The discussion later that night was not _quite_ an argument, and not loud, conducted as it was on their way back from the lake shore, walking hand in hand. “I am _fine_ , Charles. There’s a bedroll in the gear, and there’s no rain predicted tonight. I can sleep under the shade.”

“Oh, of course, that is if you want to have the rest of the campground wondering about us having a fight our first night here. Then tomorrow, I get the evil eye for making you sleep outside.” Charles kept his voice soft, but squeezed Francis’s hand. “Besides, you need to get a proper rest, as much as we can manage. If it bothers you that much…”

“No, it’s just,” Francis sighed. “I did not want to crowd you. It has been, um, quite a while since I shared sleeping space,” and he hoped his blush was not visible in the twilight, “and, well - I used to be a cuddler.”

“Good, so am I,” Charles chuckled. “We’ll just have to find a compatible configuration.” He leaned in, as they passed another couple out for an evening ramble, “Remember, there’s all sorts around here, but there’s always gossips.”

“You mean the sorts that might snoop around another family’s campsite?” Francis was quietly shocked, but kept his voice even.

“And I still have not found any curtains for the front of the van,” Charles muttered. 

Around midnight, it was the shaking that woke Francis. He had curled around Charles, both of them on their right sides, with his left arm still in the immobilizer, and his right crossed in front of him. He lifted his head, and whispered, “Charles?”

A shaky whisper came back, “sorrysorrysorry…” as Charles curled into a tighter ball.

“I, oh,” Francis backed off, “I’m sorry, I,” he raised up on his right elbow, “do you need me to sleep out-”

“No, no,” Charles gave a short, bitter laugh. “I-I forgot… I can’t,” but when Francis made to leave the bed, he rolled into him, grasping the front of his t-shirt, “no, please, I just - I can’t be the little spoon, okay?”

“It’s okay, I’ll move, Charles,” Francis felt foolish and angry at himself for not thinking - after all the doctor had been through, _of course_ having a larger body against his back would be a panic trigger. “I’m sorry. I didn't think. Whatever you need, I’ll do.”

“When I,” Charles stops to breathe, shakily, “when I didn't wake up alone, it was, it was usually because when Greene was guarding me, and the rest of them were out.”

Francis nodded, and let his hand rub circles in Charles’s shoulder. He didn't want to leave the doctor alone, and he wasn't a counselor, but he could do this for him.

“If I was alone, I was not safe, and not warm, but not in pain.” Charles was still whispering, but the shaking became less pronounced. “If I was not… not alone, the only thing that changed was… I know this is different, and I know you aren't Greene. I just need,” he took another shaky breath. “I've gotten used to the sound of you sleeping nearby, and that helped. You know, having another human nearby and not having to worry about… not having to worry.” 

“I can sleep in the front seat, if you need some distance,” Francis offered.

“I don’t want to have to make you sleep on the couch,” Charles gave a weak sound that might have been a chuckle if it was not laced with panic. “Especially when you've done so much for me already. Just, can we try, maybe a different position?”

Francis sat back, and nodded, “Yes, I’ll follow your lead,” and he let Charles position him on his back, which made his wounded arm ache a little until he settled his arm, but better a small pain than searing panic. 

When Charles’s hand reached out for his, it felt natural to let their fingers lace together. 

>>>>

The light of the rising sun streaming in the windscreen woke Charles in a gentler fashion than the panic of last night did. He was still holding Francis’s hand, though the constable was still asleep. 

It should not have been a surprise, for all the times over the past week he had imagined, and yes, _dreamed_ , of getting this close to Francis, that when the current protector’s position mirrored the past abuser’s, he would not react well. Charles mentally berated himself for not thinking the situation through properly. It had been so unfair of him to put Francis in that situation, but he had been caring in helping Charles through it. 

Charles stayed still, enjoying the play of dawn light across Francis’s hair and face, giving his companion’s light brown hair bright gold highlights. Barely breathing, he watched as Francis sighed into wakefulness, blinking to focus. “Good morning,” the younger man whispered, with a note of caution in his face.

“A very good morning, thanks to you,” Charles whispered back. He lightly squeezed Francis’s hand. “I’m sorry I didn't think,” he began before Francis interrupted him.

“I should have asked, especially after I startled you awake last week, but I didn't, and that’s my fault,” Francis kept Charles’s hand in his, “I should have _remembered_ , and I’m sorry I triggered bad memories last night.”

“So we both were surprised, but you,” Charles smiled, and reached over with his free hand, putting it on Francis’s chest, “were able to understand what I needed. Thank you.” 

Francis blushed, and Charles gave his hand a last squeeze before sliding out of bed. “You rest a bit more, I’ll get breakfast started.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are some... interesting developments.

The week passed with a sense of unreality for Francis. Charles did not have another panic attack, and seemed to throw himself into the spirit of the “holiday” they were supposedly enjoying. If it had not been such a shocking memory, Francis might have passed the single incident over as a nightmare of his own. His anger at himself for forgetting kept the incident fresh, though.

He was on duty, even if it was only known to his supervisor and his charge, but at the same time, his undercover story gave him a vacation, something that he had not taken in three years, with his lover, something he had not had in much longer. That the designated boyfriend was his responsibility in a protection detail apparently did not matter to his emotional hindbrain, and in the hours they spent in public he gave rein to his instincts. Holding himself back when they were in seclusion was getting to be harder with each passing day.

He had to admit to himself, he did have a type, but not quite the way his supervisor meant. In his quieter moments alone, he had to wonder at Stanislaw’s casual reference to routinely ordering background checks on his companions. Companions who, for various reasons, never were interested in the investment a long-term relationship would require, and the corporal had still checked them out. Since he had become a member of the RCMP, it had been difficult to find someone. It seemed all of his affairs had either been light flirtations that never gained traction due to competition with the job or, as his supervisor had said, tainted by criminal intent.

The true profile of his preferred companion was one that Charles fit all too well; a smart, polished and professional man with a wicked sense of humor and a form built for comfort. Several times he caught himself looking over at Charles’s profile in the firelight of an evening, wishing for more and locking himself down, to keep from hurting the doctor any further. He had been through enough this year, no need to have someone else crowding him, or trailing him like a puppy. 

Even accounting for his injury, that’s how Francis felt during their stay at the park; an ungainly, gangly puppy, following Charles through the day and hoping for crumbs of affection. There were moments when he thought he had given himself away, with too many attempts to maintain physical contact, but the doctor had not pulled back from his presence. It took a great deal of will to keep himself from thinking that their continued closeness could mean Charles might welcome his affections.

>>>>

Charles was running out of excuses to drag Francis out and about by the end of the week. Any possible gambit to arrange physical contact he could think of, he had employed, and now he was sneaking the less reasonable ones into their daily activities. He had never been so diligent about sunscreen before this week. Even the ruse of needing help with the bruise treatments was wearing thin, as the ointment Chamberlain had provided was working as required. 

After the first night, he was careful to not sleep on his right side, and therefore turn his back on Francis in bed. Thankfully, that seemed to be the key. He had not had another panic in the night, and his nightmares had reduced to the point of being nonexistent. 

On the other hand, his dreams were getting to be problematic, featuring a certain young man as they did. His habit of getting out of bed first to make breakfast made the physiological reaction less obvious, but he had caught himself waking up closer to Francis every morning. 

His other possible problem from Greene kept him from moving closer to Francis on his own. If there was the slightest chance of infecting Francis, Charles was not going to take it. Much as he would like to reenact some of those dreams, he was not going to endanger Francis any further than he had by making him a target.

Soon it would be time to make their rendezvous with the only other people who knew this was not a vacation. Charles dreaded it, because it could mean the end of their running around unsupervised. He knew, realistically, that this idyll would have to come to an end, but he was hoping for later, rather than sooner. 

He just had to keep from offending Francis until the time came for them to part. Even when they were out in the park, the young man had kept his flirtations respectful, and gentle. At night, he was doing all he could to make sure Charles got restful sleep. It certainly was not Francis’s fault that these acts of kindness fueled fantasies that made Charles’s slumbers not quite restful.

>>>>

Francis woke slowly, flat on his back again, aware that he was wrapped in warmth. This was their last day at the park, and there was a small, rebellious thought in the still-dreaming parts of his brain that wanted to keep sleeping, and stay here with Charles. Quite unreasonable, as they could only stay here another fortnight before the park regulations would require them to move on. His emotional hindbrain was not interested in being reasonable.

He eventually figured out he was warm because during the night, Charles had wrapped himself around him. His unconscious body must have cooperated, because with Charles’s head cradled on his shoulder, Francis’s arm fell into a natural position across his companion’s shoulders. He took a few moments to savor the fact that an arm wrapped around Charles had not triggered another bout of panic, and notice that the doctor’s right arm was across Francis’s chest, holding him close.

It took Francis another few moments of waking up to track where Charles’s other arm was; that lovely, lightly electric feeling was the doctor’s left hand cupping Francis’s right gluteal muscle group. 

When that thought finally made it to the conscious and rational parts of his brain, Francis was _extremely_ awake. Blushing furiously, he realized that getting out of bed gracefully was probably not going to be an option, first because Charles was twined about him like ivy climbing an oak tree, and secondly, their position was definitely causing a reaction.

The flush of his skin was a combination of desire, embarrassment, and anger directed inward. _He has just started to trust another person this close at rest, and does not need me violating that trust because I could not control myself_ , Francis scolded himself. He attempted a furious bout of categorizing the causes of fishkill in rivers and steps to document environmental law violations to quell his body’s reaction to Charles’s closeness. 

Then Charles shifted against him with a sleepy sigh.

Francis’s thoughts seized up, very aware of his ongoing physiological reaction to having a warm and cuddly doctor wrapped around him. Another sleepy sigh and a shift of legs from Charles, and Francis was trembling on the edge of a very outward and visible sign of his inward and hopefully still invisible, not-particularly-spiritual regard for his bedmate. 

Something of his tension must have communicated itself to Charles, who woke with a sleepy grin, then dawning chagrin. “Mmh, sorry about that,” he murmured, and gently extricated himself from Francis, “shouldn't maul you in your sleep.”

“That’s - erm, it’s okay,” Francis whispered, not trusting his voice to remain steady. He was at once relieved and regretful that Charles did not press further. 

“...breakfast, tea…” Charles mumbled as he pulled on his dungarees and slipped out of the van.

Packing up the camp was relatively simple, though Francis moved with slow precision. He could tell himself it was to make sure he did not break anything, but truthfully he knew it was because he was dragging his feet. Charles was not moving much faster, but the tension in the campsite was fairly high. When the last of the garbage had been taken to the secure dumpster, and the last bits of gear stowed in the van, Francis knew he had to say something, anything, to get Charles to relax again.

Before Charles could climb into the driver’s seat for the first part of the trip, Francis touched his shoulder, “Hey, wait a bit.” As the doctor turned to face him, slid his arm across both shoulders, pulling him close and murmuring into his hair, “You okay?”

>>>>

Charles had felt like a heel all morning, after waking up to find he was molesting the sleeping Mountie. Francis was putting up with this for _his_ safety, no need to take advantage of the guy.

It was one of the worst “morning-after” sort of mornings, because they even if they had not _done_ anything, there was an uncomfortable feeling anytime they had to work close together to get their campsite cleaned up. The tense mood depressed him, and he still had no idea if Francis was going to be offended enough to request someone else take over keeping him safe.

Then it was time to leave, and Francis gathered him close to ask if he was alright. 

Charles leaned in, wrapping his arms around Francis’s waist, and murmured, “sorry about this morning.”

Francis’s chuckle ruffled his hair, “I’m just glad you were able to do that without having a shock to your system.”

“Face to face isn't a problem, no,” Charles stopped himself from saying _it’s more affectionate that way_ , but rubbed his face into Francis’s shoulder and added, “less like a power struggle.”

The soft kiss at his hairline was a surprise, then Francis sighed against his skin, “time to go.”

Charles tightened his grip on Francis for a moment before letting go, and climbing into the van.

>>>>>

The rendezvous point was one of the regional clinics, far from the vacationing spots, and operated only once a week. Francis had taken over driving at sundown, as he was familiar with the route. This time, the sight of the corporal at the back door did not cause Charles to freeze up, though the doctor had been quiet and increasingly tense throughout the day.

“Well, this must be the place,” Charles said, his voice dull, his head hanging forward.

That loss of verve worried Francis. “We’ll get you inside, first,” he said as he got out of the van. He quickly stepped around the front of the vehicle to assist Charles out, as he had during their trips out of the park. He caught a flash of something in the doctor’s expression that was familiar from their past week, but it was gone as fast as it appeared.

Once inside, Dr Chamberlain took Dr Pemberton aside for his consultation, and Corporal Stanislaw drew Constable MacKenzie to another office for his debriefing.

“How are you holding up, Constable?” 

The question surprised Francis, as it was not a usual lead-in, but he nodded, “Well enough, sir.”

“We have news - Ottawa is sending in some investigators, or rather, they have had some in place that they finally acknowledged.” Stanislaw chuckled, “Your doctor stirred up a hornet’s nest when he broke out, and the out-of-town crew is cleaning up.” 

Francis winced, mentally chiding himself, _He’s not **yours** , behave_, before answering, “Do we still need to hide the doctor?”

“Yes, and it’s looking like you might as well take him to Ottawa yourself,” Stanislaw shrugged, “since the news we have is good and bad. Good in that the gang is going to be rounded up as soon as they have all the traps in place, but bad because the ones who are central to the organization are still in the wind. We still need to keep eyes off you, so take your time.”

Francis did not know whether to be relieved or worried.

>>>>

Chamberlain gave Charles the basic examination, while giving him the rundown from the week before, “First off, you’re negative.”

“Yeah, and _you've_ got a sunny disposition?” Charles responded with a snort.

“Hah, funny man,” she poked him in the arm before fastening the blood pressure cuff, “but you’re in the clear, as far as your infectious blood work goes. Some of the lipid panel readings were near the outside of normals. You know the drill, eat more vegetables, get more exercise, could stand to lose some weight, don’t forget the condoms, yadda, yadda, yadda.” 

“Thirty-eighth verse, same as the first,” he mumbled.

“So, yeah - you've given the lecture, you’re good for it,” she paused, getting his blood pressure reading, “and it looks like your blood pressure is down from last week. Whatever it is you've been doing, keep it up.”

Charles's surprise at his numbers overtook his irritation, “Wait, it’s down that much?”

“You were hypertensive before?” she made a note in his chart.

“Headed that way, with a family history of it,” Charles sighed, “Terrible thing, when clean living ruins your inheritance,” then he chuckled.

“Clean living, it _that_ what the kids are calling it now?” Chamberlain said archly. “I suppose the naturalist camp suited you.”

“Oh, just peachy as long as we remembered the sunscreen and black-fly repellent,” Charles shrugged. “Getting him to keep the immobilizer on was only a chore when we were setting up, but stealing his boots fixed that. It wasn't a problem while we were breaking down camp.”

“That gets us up to date, then,” she shut his file, and nodded. “Let’s see if the corporal has anything more for you this week.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are trucks, squeaking and breakfast.

Another midnight departure, but this time, it looked like Charles was not going to let Francis drive all night again, “Look, we need to fuel up, and take care of laundry. Think a truck stop would be safe enough for us to stop for a few hours?”

“I think so, if we can find one busy enough,” Francis nodded, “large enough to have a laundry open all night, should have showers, too.” He shook off the memory of Francis getting out of the shower at the cottage. “There’s one about an hour’s drive away from here. Do you think you can strip the bed and sort out the laundry while I get us there?”

“Yeah, I can,” Charles moved to the back of the van, squeezing Francis’s shoulder as he went.

Francis considered the doctor’s elevated mood since the meeting with his superior and Dr Chamberlain. He hoped it was good news, but at the same time knew it was not appropriate for him to ask. It was not as if he was a close enough friend to Charles to be _invested_ in the doctor’s health status. Though he would like to be an intimate of the doctor, that would have to wait, and he could be patient. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, he caught sight of Charles’s well-formed posterior as he pulled the sheets from the mattress.

Francis quickly shifted his view to the road and firmly told himself to watch the traffic.

>>>>

Stripping the blankets and sheets from the bed took a little care, but with Francis being such a steady driver, it did not cause Charles to overbalance. He paused, his hands on Francis’s pillow, with a glance to the front to make sure Francis was watching, put his face to the pillow case and took a slow, deep breath. _No, I probably can’t hide his pillow case and use it next week,_ Charles bundled the sheets into the empty case, and started on their packs.

“You know, we probably could wait to do laundry in the morning, unless you’re still too wired to sleep when we get there,” Charles said, just loud enough to carry over the engine noise.

“Are you tired?” Francis asked without turning his head, “I’m sorry, I didn't think to ask, first.”

“Not at the moment, but when we get done with this, I probably will be.” Charles pulled out the last of their dirty clothes, and found a mesh bag at the bottom of Francis’s pack. “This bag at the bottom of your pack for laundry?”

“It can be,” came the response. “Depending on how busy the laundry is going to be at 0130 in the morning, we can be through with it in an hour, then shower, and still have about three hours before sunrise.”

Charles finished packing up the laundry and moved back to the front seat, “Nap instead of full sleep cycle?”

“We don’t need to be anywhere soon, but I would rather not sleep at the truck stop the whole day.” Francis shrugged, “Nap, breakfast in the diner if it isn't too hideous, and then a lazy drive to the next campground. As far as I've been told, we have a week or two to drive just under twenty-five hundred miles.”

“Taking the long way, then,” Charles did not hide his smile as they traveled down the dark highway.

“Without your passport, it’s the best option,” Charles thought he caught Francis smiling in the light of the van’s instrument panel. “Besides, there’s some lovely campgrounds between here and there.”

They lapsed into silence, and Charles thought about his conversation with the corporal. It had not been anything like the last debriefing, in that they had not talked about the case at all. Kicking back with a mug of strong tea and plate chocolate chip cookies, they talked about the upcoming sports seasons and what news Charles had been able to catch up on in the past week. Hockey had never really been something Charles had followed until moving to Canada, and curling had not held his interest, but being able to talk about something _normal_ had been a gift.

It was different, talking with Stanislaw, than Charles’s experiences in talking with Francis. Yes, both of them were good conversationalists, but with Francis, the topics got more involved discussion. When he and the corporal had disagreed, the older man had turned to another topic, rather than argue. Francis had a different tactic, and quietly listened to Charles, before offering a differing opinion. After all, when there was not the distraction of television or city entertainments, there was a lot of time to talk.

They did not agree on everything, but there were a lot of topics they were closely matched in their views. Charles gazed out at the highway, suppressing a sigh; Francis was a better match for him than Dylan had been. The problem this time was the high probability that Charles was going to have to serve time, and no law enforcement officer needed that sort of hindrance to their career.

Besides, the constable’s actions the past week were a cover. The guy probably was a solid undercover agent, and not in the least interested, even without the tangle of problems Charles represented.

So, no matter how much he wanted to confess his feelings to Francis, Charles resolved he would not say a word.

>>>>

Francis may have woken up with the dawn again, but he did not make a move to wake Charles. A small, insistent internal voice told him it was wrong of him to be storing up memories like this without telling the doctor he enjoyed waking up in close contact with someone he… Francis put the brakes on that voice, to examine the thought.

Someone he cared for, and very deeply.

This was not about his duty to protect an informant, it ceased to be that before the end of the first week. He did genuinely _like_ Charles after the first few days. If the doctor wanted nothing more than his friendship, Francis would gladly give it, even if he hoped for more.

Especially when he woke up being held by Charles, knowing what kind of trust was involved for that to happen.

Yesterday morning, his reaction had been more physically charged, fueled by his surprise, but the repeat of the snuggle formation this morning was still enjoyable. Rather than fight it, Francis began to consider everything else that was riding along with his body’s enthusiastic response to Charles’s proximity.

Which was still _very_ enthusiastic.

Besides the warm glow that Francis felt because Charles’s apparent trust caused the doctor to relax enough to be comfortable cuddling with him, there was the simple physical contact that he had missed for so long, and that nagging voice that insisted if he cared for Charles he should tell him sooner rather than later.

He chose not to examine that there was a similar voice in the back of his head that was forever nine years old and giggling _you **like** like him _, b__ ut Francis had experience in ignoring that voice, even if he did agree.

Charles was probably waking up, to judge by his little shifts in position, accompanied by sleepy murmurs. This was another moment Francis tried to imprint on his long-term memory, and tried to not wake his bed-mate too soon.

__> >>>_ _

Charles was dreaming about yesterday morning, but this time, instead of being frightened stiff, the Francis in the dream cuddled back; warm, safe, and… _not_ skin-to-skin? He mentally shrugged at himself and settled in again. Probably something about his subconscious wanting a domestic connection instead of just a quick roll in the hay. He was starting to agree with his subconscious.

There was a soft chuckle, and breath stirring his hair, then Francis murmured, “Though I’d rather stay in bed all day, we ought to get moving soon.”

Charles was about to respond with a half-dozen reasons to stay in bed when an air horn sounded just outside the van.

Francis squeaked - there just was not another word for the sound he made, but considering Charles had squeezed him him around his chest at that point, it was understandable. He had done it again, and become an octopus on the night, but Francis did not seem to be upset with him.

“Oof, I guess it’s time we got up, anyway,” Francis chuckled. “Figured it would be too noisy once the overnighters got it together to roll out.”

“Yeah, I see what you mean,” Charles said, wincing at the noise of the trucks rumbling past the van as he got out of bed.. “So we go inside, have breakfast, and give them time fight it out to the highway?”

“That’s the hope, yeah,” Francis chuckled, carefully swinging his legs around to the center of the van to get dressed.

Francis wandered off while Charles had gone to the washroom, but met him in the diner, “Order tea and whatever you’re having for breakfast for me, then look these over, I’ll be right back.” He put a handful of brochures on the table and headed for the washroom himself.

Looking over the brochures, Charles saw they were for the provincial parks along the highway, detailing the amenities and activities at each. After ordering breakfast for two, he went back to perusing the information. It looked like they were traveling east, and that fit with a mostly casual comment the corporal made about getting closer to headquarters, this being a federal case, and a lot of talk about change-of-venue, most of which Charles ignored in favor of understanding Francis was still going be his protector.

It was just luck that he looked up in time to see Francis trying to extract himself from a conversation with one of the waitresses. Charles felt a stab of possessive jealousy; the woman’s flirtatious manner and crowding into his personal space persisted even as Francis kept backing off. Luckily it was not the one who had taken their order, and Francis was very obviously not wanting what she was selling, so he felt safe in being the pushy boyfriend.

 _ **Playing** a pushy boyfriend_ , he corrected himself. He stood, intending to block the frontal assault, when Francis quickly retreated, pulling Charles into the booth after him.

“She wouldn't take no for an answer?” Charles asked, holding Francis’s hand under the table.

“No, and I hate being rude to wait-staff,” he murmured, his shoulders up and tense.

Charles leaned in and nudged Francis’s shoulder with his head, “I’ll protect you, then.” He felt his companion relax and nuzzle the top of his head. When Charles looked up, he got to see the waitress who had been hitting on Francis turn red and stalk off to the kitchen. “Sorry I didn't get there sooner to defend you,” he murmured.

“I’m the one that is supposed to be protecting you,” Francis chuckled quietly.

“Pfft, equal portions in this relationship,” Charles raised his head. “You have a favourite in this stack?” he tapped the pile of brochures.

“I chose the last landing space,” he squeezed Charles’s hand lightly. “Anything catch your eye?”

“Well, yes - but you’re not a campsite,” he teased with a smile.

>>>>

Francis kept having to fight down his blushes during the meal, but it was a good, solid breakfast, making him think that Charles only occasionally indulged in a full farmhouse spread. They had a good view of the exit to the highway, and he was also able to keep watch on the van at the same time.

“So? Have you got an idea of what you’d like our next spot to have?” Francis asked when they were most of the way through the meal.

“If you had asked me that last year, it would have been a different answer,” Charles chuckled quietly. “My last camping trip was backpacking on the moors, getting rained on every day that we weren't being buffeted by high winds. That was David’s idea of a grand holiday.”

“Ah, David was your undergraduate roommate, right?” Francis asked. The roommate was mentioned often in tales that should make him quail in horror, but Charles had a way with spinning the tales of youthful episodes of poor judgment into entertaining yarns. “I wonder that you didn't kick your feet up at camping when Ken suggested it.” He was being careful not to mention ranks and police in general when they were in public.

Luckily, Charles knew the reason and played along. “I know, I said _last year_ , after all.” He nudged Francis’s arm, “You've been helping me see the joys of camping. Not really wanting to try backpacking on the moors again, but some greenhorn trails, maybe a laundromat, and a side trip to a farmer’s market, now that we've almost gone through the veg Nan gave us, and I’ll have everything I,” he paused, and smiled, “need, at any rate.”

Why that little pause should give Francis a shock, he was not entirely sure. “I think we can manage to pull together something that hits all of your needs.” Another few moments of watching the parking lot did not reduce his blushes, and he asked, “Anything else you might want?”

__> >>>_ _

_Oh, no - he's asking that?_

Charles huffed a laugh to cover his surprise, “I dunno, a pony and a plastic rocket, maybe?” At Francis’s quizzical look, he smiled, and gripped his companion’s hand, “I've made do with so much less, even this much is a luxury.” Then he gave in to impulse, leaned over and kissed Francis on the corner of his mouth.

Watching Francis blush, with his mouth slightly open in surprise, made Charles smile.

“Whatever you want, Charles.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroes travel east around Lake Huron, but barely notice the scenery.

_He is going to kill me. There’s no way I’m going to survive this._

Charles had to consciously keep his hands to himself the rest of the day, while they were alone in the van. He allowed himself some liberty when they were in public, through the browsing of a couple of roadside stands, where Francis had been shyly flirtatious in helping to select items for the week, to the set up of the camp and supper preparations. 

Sitting in the chairs, which Charles had oriented to watch the sunset instead of squarely facing the fire, he asked, “How is your arm?”

“Feeling much better, since I took the night-time analgesic,” Francis had threaded his free hand in Charles’s, and the doctor had to firmly tell himself it was because they were out in the open.

“Let me know when you are dropping off, as I’m not sure I can carry you to bed safely,” Charles gave his hand a squeeze.

Francis gave a small sigh, “and here I was hoping you would sweep me off my feet.”

Charles gave a small laugh to cover his desire to whimper, “I could do that, but chances are I’d end up dropping you on your head.”

“Not my sort of thing, sorry,” Francis pulled Charles’s hand to his lips, as a couple walked past their campsite. When the pair had gotten out of earshot, he squeezed Charles’s hand before letting go, “The medications are starting to kick in, I’d better get in bed. Can you take care of the fire?”

“It’s nearly out, but I think I can handle it,” Charles helped him out of the chair. It was totally unnecessary, but it gave him the excuse to be close to Francis, “You’re still to be in the immobilizer this week, right?”

Francis leaned on him, “Yes, I know it helps, though it is annoying to have one hand tied down.”

“At least it’s not behind your back,” Charles chuckled as he helped Francis into the van. “I’ll be right outside, so if you need help, _ask_ this time.”

“All right, Charles,” and settled in to unlace his boots.

Taking care of the fire in the ring was less arduous than it had been on the backpacking trip, as there was water available to drown the coals a few steps away, rather than half a kilometer. With the fire out, Charles debated going to the shower house to wash off the smoke, but leaving Francis alone was not an option. He ended up just stripping out of his shirts and grabbing a clean one before shimmying into bed.

“Everything all right?” Francis asked sleepily.

“Yeah, I just,” Charles sighed, “I’m thinking I should apologize in advance for what’s probably going to happen overnight.”

“What, with us waking up tangled up together?” Francis murmured, his speech starting to slide into the soft cadences of someone who was either very tired, slightly medicated, or both. “s’okay, I kinda like it.” He stretched his arm across the pillow, “sleep, stop worryin'.”

Charles settled into the proffered embrace, muttering “I hope you remember okaying this in the morning.” 

“Shush,” Francis kissed him on the forehead, “sleep.” Then he quickly dozed off.

Charles settled his head on Francis’s upper chest, where he would not interfere with his bed-mate’s breathing, but could still hear his heart beat.

_This is going to be the death of me._

>>>>

Francis woke slowly as the sun cleared the horizon enough to shine through the van’s windscreen. He was again wrapped up in Charles, and allowed himself a small smile. He would try to string together a more socially acceptable reason for the two of them to sleep close later when Charles woke up, but for now, he could indulge himself in the bouquet of small joys that the close contact gave him. 

He sternly told himself, again, that he would need to take responsibility for his actions, but for this moment, he was held by someone.

Francis thought about the route they were taking around the lakes, and considered taking a small detour to the south. Not so far as to cross the border, but to give Charles a chance to meet another family member. 

He knew this was probably his worst idea ever, but given the option, Francis wanted to keep in touch with Charles after this trip. Even if all Charles wanted was someone to correspond with after the trial was over, that would be something. Francis had few friends outside family or work, which explained a few of his poor choices in companions. 

_Maybe I should have asked the corporal for advice on those choices before,_ Francis thought, turning his head slightly to look at Charles’s head resting on his shoulder. _He said Charles could be a better choice than the others._ He took a chance to nuzzle the top of the doctor’s head, breathing in the scent of him, laced with wood smoke.

_He could be the best choice, but only if he wants to be._

>>>>>

Charles managed to wake up quickly enough to keep himself from grinding against Francis’s hip, but did not give an indication he was awake as long as he could. He could feel Francis’s breath stirring his hair, and there was no way he wanted to give that up.

He lay still, with Francis’s arm resting across his shoulders, breathing in his scent, when Francis sighed, and said quietly, “Comfortable as this is, I need to get up, Charles.”

“Mn,” Charles took a chance, rubbing his face in Francis’s chest as if he were just waking, “yeah, ‘m up,” and slowly got ready for the day.

As the week wore on, they traveled to several of the parks along the lakefront, staying a few days until they had walked all the trails and enjoyed the attractions (that were not Francis) around each park before moving on.

Towards the end of the week as they were watching another sunset fade into twilight, hand in hand, Charles asked, “Are we just wandering until Ken calls?”

“Almost,”Francis gave his hand a small squeeze, “Ready to sleep?”

It was early for them, unless Francis had a bad day with his arm, but something in Francis’s expression made Charles think there might be another reason to continue this discussion in the van, and not necessarily the reason he would very much like to happen. “I’ll take care of the fire, you settle in,” Charles squeezed his hand before releasing it. 

Once they were both in their accustomed position (and Charles was getting far too used to sleeping like this), Francis pulled him close, and murmured into his hair, “We may be out here another week or two, but there is another option, once we get close to Toronto.”

“We’re getting pretty close now, we could get downtown in a long day of driving. “Keeping his voice low, Charles asked, “What sort of option is in Toronto?”

“Close, but not in the city limits. We could, if you are okay with it,” Francis paused, then the rest came out in a tumbled whisper, “we could stay with my great aunt.”

Charles tightened his arm around Francis’s chest in surprise, “The one who owns the cottage? Who told the rest of the family…”

Francis gave a quick nod, “If you are uncomfortable with it,” he began before Charles cut in.

“Do we have to tell her about the official reason I’m with you?” and he closed his eyes, cursing himself for not watching his brain-to-mouth filter. _He’s going to flip out. It’s not going to be pretty. Why couldn't I keep my mouth shut?_

Then he noticed that Francis was very quiet, and was gently rubbing his shoulders, “I… don’t know if I can lie to her, and have her believe me.” Then he tightened his arm around Charles’s shoulders, “but if that is what you want, I can try.”

“No, just that,” he sighed, “I’d like her to think well of me.”

“I wouldn't tell her why you are in protective custody,” Francis murmured, his breath warm on Charles’s forehead. “but if there is an official reason, she is the soul of discretion.”

“Alright,” Charles relaxed against him, “You know her, and I’m just,” _wanting an excuse to touch when we're there_ , he thought before saying, “maybe a little paranoid.”

“A healthy attitude, right now,” Francis chuckled quietly. “Think about when you’d like to be in town, and we’ll go.”

“I can manage camping like this as long as we don’t run into snow,” Charles joked, “so we don’t have to hurry on my account.”

“I don’t think we’ll be out that long, but tomorrow, you pick the next campground.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, a somewhat truncated chapter this week, but we should be back up to speed soon.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet... The Aunt.

The telephone call had been concerning, to say the least. On the other hand, dropping in on his great aunt without calling first would not only be rude, but unwise. Instead of slowing down when she retired, she had gone into overdrive. The call was necessary to find out if she would be in the country, much less at home. 

“Oh, hello Francis! I talked with Nancy last week. She was very impressed during your visit. I’m quite looking forward to meeting your beau!”

“Ah.” Francis blushed, glad that he had chosen to make the call from the van while Charles watched the fire, “about that…”

“No, no, that’s fine, dear! I’ll get the guest room ready. What time will you be in?”

Francis hung his head, holding back a sigh, “Wednesday, probably by mid-afternoon, and thank you.”

“I’m home for the next month, at least. Maybe we can manage a few trips into town if you have the time.”

“We’ll see, Aunt Ellen,” Francis glanced out the window to check the road past their campsite, noting the kids with the beach kites were packing it in for the night. “It depends on if I get called in to work or not.”

“Hopefully you can at least stay through the weekend.”

This time, Francis did sigh, and turning to watch Charles’s profile in the firelight, he murmured, “I hope so, we just have to see how the wind blows.”

“Drive safely!” then there were goodbyes and the line disconnected. 

Francis watched Charles a few minutes more, taking in how the light from the fire gilded the curves and planes of his face. The doctor was not as haggard as he had been that first day, and even with the beard, it was easy to see he was losing the hollow look. With the long strolls they had been taking, Charles had gained some of the lost weight as muscle, but he still had a shape that was comfortable to hold. Francis already knew he would miss the sensation of being held as he slept. He dismounted from the van, settling in beside Charles at the fire.

The doctor asked, “How is your aunt?”

“Cheerful as ever, and expecting us in four days,” Francis said lightly. He did not mention his great-aunt’s assumptions about them.

He did not need to. Charles chuckled, “Still hopeful, is she?”

“Yes,” Francis reached over to take Charles’s hand, “Hope is not a bad thing, for a nonagenarian.”

“True enough,” Charles chuckled, lacing his fingers with Francis’s. “Gave her a heads-up to make sure she didn't take off for a tour?”

“Yes, but in her case I would be more worried we missed her because she was off on a ride with her friends,” Francis chuckled.

>>>>

Wednesday came too soon and not soon enough at the same time.

“Charles, are you alright?” Francis’s voice was light, but there was a thread stress in the question.

He startled out of his introspection, not willing to meet Francis’s eyes, not yet. “Just, you know, trying to get ready to meet her.” Charles kept watching the neighborhood roll by, _Trying to not tie myself into knots knowing I’m meeting someone important to you_ was the thought foremost in his mind, but not one he would say.

“It will be fine,” Francis said, his voice soft. “She is my grandmother’s sister, and you got on with Nana alright, yeah?”

“Yeah, but she was sneaky,” Charles grumbled. “I didn't have any idea we were going to see her.”

“If this makes you uncomfortable, we can move on,” Francis stopped at an intersection, turning to look at Charles. 

“No, it’s just,” Charles took in a deep breath, “I don’t want to cause you problems with your family.”

Francis smiled, reaching over to grip Charles’s shoulder, “You won’t cause problems, Charles,” and that sweet smile was enough to make the knot in his chest loosen a little more. “Besides, if you are still not feeling comfortable after supper, just mention another park and we’ll go in the morning.”

Feeling his resolve firm, Charles nodded. He could do this, Francis was right, this was not going to be a trial, just meeting with the great aunt that had the comfortable cottage... stocked with six bottles of really strong rum. He would just have to see how things went.

>>>>

Francis had nearly turned around and headed for the highway as Charles’s tension built. The doctor was normally jovial and chatty during their daytime drives, but the longer they were in the residential neighborhood, the quieter he became. 

If he were honest with himself, and he generally tried to be, Francis would have to admit he was anxious as well. He had gotten used to being able to give in to the need to touch Charles. With the possibility that this might be a private enough venue for the doctor to relax, Francis steeled himself to behave in an appropriate manner.

All too soon they arrived at the house, Francis taking advantage of the open space at the back of the house to park the van out of sight of the street. He turned to Charles with what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “Ready?”

When Charles just nodded his head, staring at the house, Francis put a gentle hand on his shoulder, and murmured, “Just say the word, and we’ll move on.”

“No, I can do this, you haven’t visited her in years,” Charles answered, bringing up a conversation from their first week together.

Francis squeezed his shoulder, and nodded, “I can come back later, though. Until we get the call, you make our schedule.”

Charles finally turned his gaze from the house to Francis. “Then we’re staying here at least tonight to let you rest.”

“Okay, Charles,” the younger man said with a smile, and nodded his head to the house.

>>>>

Charles had been expecting another tall, whipcord-muscled woman, and instead was greeted effusively by a curvy woman of his height, with bright turquoise hair. “You’re finally here!” she chirped, and greeted him with Montreal-style bisous, which he managed to not fumble in his surprise.

The woman then smacked Francis on his uninjured arm, “And it takes you getting a serious boyfriend for you to come see me?”

Francis leaned down to give his aunt the same sort of greeting she had given Charles, saying, “I’m sorry I left it for so long, Aunt El.”

She bustled them inside, and as soon as the door closed, she sighed, “That should take care of Mrs. Hoffelt, who will have it out on the neighborhood grapevine before tea.” Taking Charles's arm, she led them into the kitchen, “I've got a fresh batch of gazpacho in the icebox, unless you’d prefer sandwiches?” 

“Whatever’s easiest, Mrs Cormier,” Charles smiled as lady of the house put a stack of bowls in his hands.

“Enough of that,” she chuckled, “You’d best get used to calling me Aunt, for I shan't answer to Mrs. anything this late in the game.”

Lunch with Aunt El was as casual as it had been with Nan, with the same style of interrogation, only this time, there was a different shared topic - motorcycles. “Tch, I thought there was wind in your hair. How long since you last rode?”

“About three years,” and Charles noticed Francis relaxing just a little more. “I haven’t worked on one in ten, but back then, I was just a basic maintenance mechanic.” He held out his hands, “Once I was certified, I had to keep my hands out of the engines to keep up the surgical practice.”

“Oh, I understand that; my Lise was an electronics tech until her arthritis made her management material,” she smiled.

Charles nodded, feeling another thread of tension release. It had been hard for him, being the first in his family to be open about his preferences. He did wonder about Francis, though; if he was not the trailblazer, then it wasn't his family preventing him from finding someone. 

“Where is Aunt Lise?” Francis asked, relieving Charles from asking what could have been a delicate question.

“She’ll be back in a week, after camp closes. Lise got the computer maintenance program for the Girl Guide summer camp approved,” and Aunt El winked, “but only if she was there to run it.”

>>>>

That night, Francis carried their packs up to the guest room, and sighed at the queen-sized bed. _At least the comfortable recliner is still up here._ Dropping his burden to the floor, he pulled his wash bag out of the pack to put it in the bathroom. 

Charles entered the room, and tilted his head at the bed. “A little more room, even if we don’t need it.”

“I’ll sleep…” Francis began, but was cut off with a teasing tone from Charles.

“In the bed, because you need the rest,” then Charles sighed. “If you’re freaking out about sharing a bed at your aunt’s house, I can take the floor.”

“No, it’s just that,” Francis shrugged, “I didn't want to impose, now that there’s more enclosed safe space.”

“I didn't make you sleep on the couch when it was the front seat of the van, and I’m all right with giving you the bed, if you are tired of the octopus mornings.” Charles made it sound so reasonable, but the tone in his voice almost seemed hurt, to Francis’s ear.

His reply was quiet, “No, I’m not, it’s, well.” Francis felt the beginnings of a blush, “But I thought I ought to give you the option, in case you wanted the space.”

Charles frowned at Francis, and gripped his shoulder, “If I need space, I will tell you, honestly. But I have gotten better sleep in the past weeks than…” he paused, and quietly added, “well, better than I have in a long time.”

Francis nodded, “Okay, we’ll sleep the way we have, then.”

If it did not bother Charles, Francis could let it ride.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is an enlightening conversation.

_Bigger bed, and we’re still wrapped around each other_ , Charles thought to himself as he woke up the next morning. _He’s eventually going to figure out this isn't just me needing reassurance or coming out of a bad situation. Hope he isn't angry about it when he does._

He knew as long as he was relaxed and breathing normally, Francis would stay put until they _had_ to get out of bed. The one morning he had held his breath, trying to not wake his bed-mate, Francis had rolled him on his back and had “woken” him by shaking his shoulder and calling his name in a sharp tone. 

Opening his eyes to the sight of Francis’s panicked expression was almost enough to make Charles’s resolve break, but he was able to calm the both of them down. Doing so without seducing the officer had been a personal achievement, and Charles had splurged on sticky buns for both of them when they stopped for coffee and petrol that morning. 

Every morning, even the ones where he or Francis had startled the other awake, was another memory he stored away, something to hold onto after he had to let go of Francis. Even if the separation was in the distant future, it was not distant enough.

“You’re thinking very loudly, this morning,” Francis mumbled sleepily.

Charles pulled back, reluctantly. He joked, “Just thinking about taking this mattress when we leave.”

“Nope, it took four of us to wrestle it up the stairs,” Francis’s hand ruffled Charles’s hair, “and it won’t fit in the van.”

“Curses, foiled again,” Charles chuckled as he headed for the shower. 

Later, Aunt Ellen said over breakfast, “Your timing is good, with the festival being this weekend.”

“I hadn't thought about that,” Francis answered cheerfully. “It’s been so long, I've missed the yearly pilgrimage to the cactus festival!”

Charles stopped before sipping his tea, “...the what?”

“The local community homecoming festival was centered around the cactus greenhouses,” Francis explained. “The town was Canada’s leading source of cacti when the festival was organized.

“You’re telling me there’s a cactus festival. In Canada.” Charles looked from one to the other to see if they were displaying any tells he could see.

Francis shrugged, “Just your basic community end-of-summer party, but there’s been some odd out-of-towners to show up occasionally.”

“Oh, it’s been over ten years since the streaking incident,” Aunt Ellen giggled as she refilled their teacups, “but you never know when something else will pop up to make things interesting.”

“More interesting than a cactus festival above the 40th parallel?” Charles asked.

“Hey, at least it’s below the 60th,” Francis chuckled.

“So that’s tomorrow, and the streets will be closed off around noon. If you need any more supplies for the weekend, it will be easier to get them today.” Aunt Ellen handed Francis a list, “and since Lise took the car, I hope you wouldn't mind getting a few things while you’re out.”

At Francis’s indistinct murmur of concentration, Charles asked, “What is it?”

“We need more gear, and at least one more light backpack,” he murmured, adding more items to the list.

“Well, I won’t say no to another change of clothes, but another pack?” Charles kept his voice low as well.

Francis’s eyes flickered up to where his great-aunt was starting to clean up, “Never hurts to have something for the day trips,” and he jerked his head at Charles as he stood up. 

It was a sign of how much they had worked together that Charles was able to catch on quickly, “Nah, Aunt El, let us take care of that. You cooked.” He subtly edged over, “Go sit at the table and tell me horrible stories of Francis’s youth.”

When they were heading out to run the errands in the van, Charles asked, “So why were you not wanting to talk about getting another pack in front of your aunt?”

“I’m thinking about having an emergency go-bag, one for both of us,” Francis nodded. “I don’t want to worry her, and if we started talking about making bug-out preparations, it might get her upset.”

“You don’t think they would find us here, do you?” Charles started scanning the neighborhood streets.

“It’s not likely, but at the same time, with us being able to spread things out, I -” Francis sighed, “I just have a nervous itch at the base of my skull that says it’s better to be prepared.”

“Better to have it and not need it, as my gran would have said,” Charles nodded, as they pulled into a parking space in front of the Adventure Attic.

Later in the afternoon, Francis had Charles offload everything into the house, including their camping equipment. “I just wanted to go over some of the gear, and clean out the van.” Francis turned to his great-aunt,. “Once the van is cleared out, could we park it in the garage?” 

“At least until Lise is back, sure. Just got a text that she’s out for the next two weeks,” Aunt El responded. “Might be a good idea to not drive too often while you’re here?”

Charles caught Francis’s wince, and shrugged answering for them, “As close as you are to the shops, we’d only need it for the heavy stuff, anyway.” He turned to Francis, “I’ll get the laundry sorted while you work on the camping gear, alright?”

At Francis’s nod, he turned to the van, and stripped out the bed linens again, and Francis hefted the bag with the shade into the house.

>>>>

Cleaning the camping equipment in the kitchen was something so ingrained in his muscle memory that Francis could do in his sleep. It allowed his mind to wander, as he brushed the dirt from the shade stakes onto a plastic sheet. 

His great-aunt sat beside him, checking the guy-lines for damage. Her quiet statement caught him off guard, “You don’t seem to be all that objective about this trip.”

“No, I’m really not,” was the answer that slipped out.

“Have you two talked about it?”

Francis gave a derisive snort, “No, he doesn't need a puppy trailing after him.”

“You know, some people actually don’t see the world the way you do, Francis." His great-aunt had just a trace of sharpness to her tone. "Just because you see yourself that way doesn't mean he does.”

“On the other hand, he hasn't said anything either,” Francis shrugged, only wincing slightly at the healing wound. “If he doesn't feel the same way, I’m not going to put him in the position of having to deal with an idiot who fell for him, while he was protecting him.”

“Ah, that might be an issue, sure,” his aunt worked another line through her fingers. “I think you should tell him, though.”

“Not until he’s safe. I don’t want to make him feel he has to... “ Francis shook his head. “I’m the one he has to rely on to keep him in one piece. If I were to admit that I care for him, and he doesn't want that, it would be as bad as... no, I’m not going to make things worse.”

“That would be the sensible thing to do, I suppose,” Ellen said, coiling the guy-line. “Just make sure you don’t forget to tell him when the detail is over.”

“I’m not going to let him be hurt,” Francis said, collecting the stakes into their bag. “Least of all by me.”

>>>>

Charles stared at the furnace, where the voices from the kitchen above had echoed down to the basement. He had been sorting the laundry, not meaning to eavesdrop when that conversation started. _I wasn't imagining it, then._

The pieces were falling into place. Francis was not acting when they went out in public, he was holding back when they did not have an audience. The idiot was not going to say anything about his feelings because he did not want Charles to feel pressured. He was still going to need therapy to deal with the assaults, but one thing Charles did know was Francis had put himself between Charles and those that wanted him dead.

Though Charles realized they were both idiots, because it was _both_ of them actively cuddling in the mornings. _That_ was what had been hovering around his semi-conscious morning thought processes. If felt right because they were both where they wanted to be.

_So the serious question now is "Am I going to let him go on like that?"_ It was almost immediately apparent that the answer was _Not on a bet!_

He sorted out the last of the laundry, and considered how to approach the problem. In his younger days, it would be a matter of stepping up and declaring, _I would like some of that, yes please!_ as he grabbed his crush by the tush, but he was older and supposedly wiser, now.

Besides, Francis had wanted to get everything cleaned and packed up in case they had to run, so he let the laundry sooth his anticipation, banking the coals until they got a chance to talk alone. He could behave. Charles chuckled to himself, _It’s no different from an hour ago, just that now, I won’t have to **stop** touching him just because we’re alone._

The fact that the next opportunity for a private conversation with Francis would be within steps of a bed was not entirely excluded from Charles’s strategy.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a shovel talk.

Putting away their laundry, Charles saved out a set of clothes for each of them to add to the go-bag Francis had put together, and took it out to the garage to store it in the van. He was expecting to see motorcycles in the other side of the garage, but not the models that were there.

The newer racing bike was a similar model to the one he had left in Glasgow, but the vintage café racer was the one to hold his attention. Fifty years older than he was, and as far as he could see, still in great condition. 

“Thought you might be in here,” Aunt Ellen said from the door. “Supper will be ready soon, too late for a ride today.”

Charles huffed a laugh, “I haven’t seen one of these except in magazines. You still ride it?”

“Nah, that one’s Lise's. The 600 is my usual ride,” she tilted her head at him. “You haven’t ridden in how long?”

“Years, but I kept my licence up-to-date,” looking over the vintage bike, not touching, he asked, “Do the two of you ride often?”

“Not as much as we used to. When we have to work around the weather and arthritis, there’s fewer good days to ride.” Her tone changed with her next question, “Do you maintain other parts of your past?”

“Not many, to tell the truth,” he murmured. “I left Glasgow because there were expectations on me to change. They called it ‘growing up’, but to be honest, it felt wrong, hollow.”

“How so?”

“The polish that they wanted was hard to get on a rough plank, the kind of guy I was then. Yeah, with enough coats it would be shiny, but I felt… suffocated by the varnish.” Charles’s shoulders sagged, not seeing the garage any longer. “Francis has a polish to him as well, but it’s more like the sort of sheen years of care gives rather than a shell that requires gloves to handle; the difference between a glow that can be touched, instead of something behind a museum rope.” He shook his head, “That made no sense at all, did it?”

“Depends on what sort of touch you’re looking for,” she frowned at him.

“Whatever he’s willing to give, really.” Charles sighed, “We've been in close quarters, nobody but each other for company for over a month, and I've gotten used to that, more than I thought I would. But I have no idea where I’ll be in the next year.”

Regarding him evenly, she asked, “Where do you want to be?”

“With him,” came the immediate answer, and Charles raised his head meeting her eyes. “I’ll get there eventually, I hope.”

“You will not hurt him.” It was an order, not a question.

“I can promise it’s not my intention to cause him harm,” Charles rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, he got shot less than an hour after we met because of me, but if I can keep that from happening ever again, I will. I’m too far gone to play games, and he’s worth more than I can say.” He looked down at his feet. “Worth more than me, at any rate.”

“Talk to him about it, and soon.” She left him in the garage.

Charles managed to get back in control of his face before heading back into the house. _That was not bad, for a shovel talk, all told,_ he said to himself as he washed up for supper. 

>>>>

Something was up. 

Francis had that itch feeling he usually got right before an electrical storm, but the weather was clear. At least outside. 

It was not because Charles was angry, though they did have a small discussion about leaving the brace off during supper. “It’s not hurting now, and I did wear it while I was cleaning the equipment, but just as a reminder to take it easy.”

“All right, but if it hurts when you go to bed, put it on before you go to sleep,” Charles frowned at him. “You want to be able to pass your next flight physical, right?”

“Yes, mum,” Francis answered, rolling his eyes to cover the fluttery feeling in his chest when Charles gripped his uninjured shoulder.

All through supper, Aunt Ellen was discussing the various performers that were scheduled for the festival tomorrow evening, what vendors were setting up, which of the neighbors were sponsoring what contests - just about anything and everything but what they had talked about this afternoon. Considering Charles’s presence, Francis knew he should be grateful that topic was being avoided. 

Though it seemed to Francis that Charles was distracted and only paying attention out of courtesy. It was the kind of quiet the doctor usually displayed when he was under stress, and that worried Francis. He could not figure out the cause of the strain he could feel underneath the talk around the kitchen table, hoping it was not something he did to make Charles uncomfortable. He shook his head slightly to get back in line with the conversation just in time.

His aunt said, “Oh, by the way, Mrs.Peterson called to say her daughter is in town for the festival as well.” At Francis’s groan, she chuckled, “Fifteen years later, she still thinks you were just going through a phase,” Ellen’s eye-roll was eloquent, “and yes, she’s still intent on you and Katie making a couple, no matter I told her you brought a friend.”

Charles cleared his throat, “Would this be something you might want help with, Francis?” When he turned to face the doctor, Charles was the picture of innocence, except for a trace of merry devilment in his eyes.

Francis blushed, and stammered, “I, well, nothing else has worked, so… perhaps if we were to go through the festival together,” and he inwardly cursed himself for grasping at another chance to pretend Charles was his.

“Tomorrow sounds like a good idea, then.” Charles returned his attention to the berry trifle Aunt Ellen had served. “We’ll see how it goes.”

>>>>

Charles kept a tight grip on the sudden anger he felt directed towards someone he had never met, not just because the unknown Mrs Peterson was dismissing Francis’s self-awareness. He recognized the issue as a thinly-disguised caveman grunt of _**MINE**_ , and kept it under control. He could not claim Francis as his, not just yet. But tonight seemed like a good time to have that conversation, so he took the opportunity to help Francis wash the dishes after supper. 

“Fifteen years, hm?” he asked quietly.

Francis sighed, “It’s almost long enough ago to be funny, except I still have to answer those kind of questions when I come back to visit. Katie knows I prefer men, we used to sit in the park and compare notes while we were guy-watching, for crying out loud!” He leaned against the counter, “Her mum is just… obstinate.”

“Hey, no need for you to get upset because she can’t catch a clue,” Charles reached over, rubbing Francis’s shoulder, “Don’t let yourself get tied in knots, you know how that aggravates your arm. You need to relax.” Putting the dish towels away, he tugged on Francis’s uninjured arm. “Come on, upstairs with you. Will you need your medication to relax?”

The younger man followed willingly enough, “I hope not, I don’t like what it does to me.”

Charles raised his eyebrows; this was the first time Francis had mentioned side effects. “Because you’re groggy most of the morning when you take it?”

“That too,” Francis murmured quietly.

Charles shut the door to the guest room softly behind them and asked, “What else about the medication bothers you?”

Shutting the curtains for the night, Francis shook his head, “I don’t like how they turn off the filter between my brain and my mouth.” He sighed, rubbing his forehead, “It hasn’t been too many years since I was in the habit of exactly what I thought and got into fights because of it. Besides, I need to be on my toes, in case we need to move fast.”

Charles thought a moment, “You spend of lot of energy editing yourself in conversation, then?”

“It’s kept me from having as many random arguments, at least.” He shrugged, “I don’t lie, I just don’t always say everything that usually comes to mind.”

“I wondered why you developed such good redirection skills. At first, it bothered me, the way you can’t seem to lie with words without tripping over yourself,” Charles moved slowly, taking off his boots and putting them under the bed, “but then I noticed something odd. It looked to me like it was the easiest thing in the world for you display affection at the drop of a hat. Why would you be able to lie with your body, but not your words, I asked myself?” Charles shook his head, “It didn't make any sense, unless….”

Francis interrupted him, “Charles,” his voice was strained, “please don’t make this, erm, more difficult.” He closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall, “Even though we’re presenting ourselves as a couple to the public eye, I’m your _protection detail_. That means protecting you from further physical harm, psychological trauma, coercion and, and… unwelcome attention.”

“You’re doing a good job, even if you’re getting tangled up in problems that don’t apply here.” Charles kept his tone light, but it was difficult. “I haven’t been physically injured since we landed, when you took that shot meant for me. I am not being coerced, because I had decided I was going to testify against them no matter what the courts would offer me or not _before_ you found me. I haven’t been getting attention that I do not want.” Then Charles chuckled, as he stepped within arms reach of the constable, his control slipping, his voice going a touch rougher, “I would not call attention from you ‘unwelcome’, Francis.”

Francis’s eyes snapped open, scanning Charles’s face, his pupils dilated. 

“Ah, there’s my favorite whiskey,” Charles’s smile was soft. “You hide your eyes too often, Francis. Even when they’re open, you keep so much hidden.” He put a gentle hand on the young man’s uninjured shoulder, “Once I calmed down after the flight, I opened my eyes to a brave and beautiful man. After only week in your company, I found you fascinating. I tried to keep it under control, but when I finally figured out your were trying to protect me from _yourself_ , that tore the last shred of my restraint.” He gently cupped Francis’s jaw, sliding his hand up into his hair, and murmured, “Now, I don’t think I can let you go without a struggle.” 

“I-I don’t know if I could either,” Francis took a shaky breath, “but I have to deliver you to the court protective service sometime soon. I’d rather stay with you, but they won’t permit that.”

Charles’s hand tightened slightly on the back of Francis’s neck, “I know, I know - I probably will have to serve time for my actions, there might not be visiting privileges, but that doesn't change my hope that you might entertain the idea that we could...”

“Yes,” Francis interrupted him, leaning in brush his lips lightly against Charles’s, before giving a small sigh and deepening the kiss, his arms wrapping around the doctor, pulling him closer, even if it was not close enough. 

Charles took the action for invitation and opened under Francis’s attention. Leaning into his protector, he groaned, tasting the tea on his tongue, hands clutching at his hips. When they paused so they could breathe, he tucked his head into Francis’s shoulder, “Wanted to do that for what seems ages.” He slid his hands up under his shirt, kissing his collarbone.

“Charles, you’re still, I want, but you,” Francis gasped, his words seeming to push Charles away, but at the same time his hands shaking, clutching the back of his shirt.to pull him closer.

“Yes, I’m sure,” he nuzzled Francis’s neck, lightly biting his trapezius muscle, “You are the one person in the world I trust with my safety, both skin and soul. After you tried to turn yourself inside out to keep me from having flashbacks, I knew,” he breathed in Francis’s ear, “You’re the one who has my back, because you’d rather sleep outside the van than cause a nightmare.”

“I-I’m not so sure of my control, it’s been a while,” Francis’s frantic clutching at Charles’s shirt spoke of his tenuous grip on his lust. 

“We’d better take the edge off, then,” Charles said with a chuckle as he dropped to his knees, executing a shimmy, leaving his shirt in Francis’s hands and making a dive for Francis’s belt to shuck him out of his dungarees and shorts. 

“Wait! Not like that, not so,” Francis seemed to be confused, worried, and aroused all at the same time, his eyes dilated and petting Charles’s hair, the doctor’s discarded shirt dropped to the floor. “Bed, please, bedbedbed, not kneeling, not like that ,” and he was pulling Charles to the bed.

Charles’s breath caught, when he realized what Francis was worried about, and changed tack, “Of course, bed - want this to be good for you, and that’ll be good for me, too.” He helped Francis off with his clothes, his mood shifting from frantic passion to reverent care, kissing his lover’s skin as it was revealed. “Whatever you want.”

Francis’s fingers were not as clever, but he was able to help Charles undress, returning the caresses and kisses with trembling ardor. When they tumbled into the bed, he gave a choked cry that was almost laughter swallowed by a gasp, “yes, what you want,” his voice shaky, “I want you to feel safe, feel loved.”

“Makes it easier, when we both want the same thing for each other,” Charles murmured into Francis’s ear before worrying his lover’s earlobe with his teeth.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is snogging, in public.

Blinking in the light of a new day, a new world, Francis sighed, finally able to let his contentment in waking up wrapped up in Charles show.

“Mrrph,” Charles mumbled into his neck, the arm wrapped around Francis’s chest pulling him closer.

Brushing the top of Charles’s head with his nose, breathing in his scent, Francis tightened his right arm around Charles’s shoulder, stroking the arm Charles had wrapped across his chest with his left hand, carefully avoiding sudden movement. His brace had been forgotten, along with his pain medication, in favor of endorphin production the evening before. He did not want to lose the benefits of the therapy by straining his shoulder. 

And he also wanted to stay in bed with Charles as long as they could manage.

Unfortunately, that was biologically impossible. Francis nuzzled the top of his lover’s head, murmuring, “Ready to get up?”

“Dun’wan,” Charles murmured, nipping at Francis’s collarbone. “Like this dream.”

“Best dream ever,” Francis agreed, “but we need to shower.”

“If we’re moving the dream to the shower,” the doctor murmured, his voice becoming clearer as he woke, “that’s okay.” Charles tightened his grip on Francis’s gluteal group, causing the younger man to chuckle.

“Yes, we have to be seen in public today.” Francis still did not move from his wrapped up position.

“We have to?” Charles murmured into his neck.

“You need to meet Katie, at least,” Francis stretched, leaning into Charles’s lips. “Um, sometime. Maybe.”

>>>>

After a late shower, the two finally made it downstairs as Aunt Ellen was clearing away her breakfast dishes.

She commented, “A late breakfast? You’re going to miss half the fun that way.”

Francis said, “We can make our own fun.”

Charles decided Francis was not blushing enough, and added, “You’re lucky we’re dressed.”

“Well, _finally_.” She set the new pot of tea on the table. “I’ll let Nancy know she owes me ten bucks.”

“You were betting on us?” Francis’s head snapped up.

“Nah, on the timing,” Aunt Ellen put the marmalade pot back on the table, “she was thinking you two would hold out until December.”

Charles gave Francis a look, “Nah, he’s too tempting.” He was rewarded with another warm smile, one that made him want to take him back upstairs. Instead, he asked, “So, any of the chemists going to be open today?”

“Might be,” she asked, “What do you need?”

Charles smiled, “Just a few supplies.”

“Probably for the best, the only condoms in the house are likely past their expiration date,” she said as she left the kitchen and Francis dropped his head on the table.

“I’d say you were being embarrassing, but to be honest, I was thinking the same thing.” Francis said into the tabletop, his ears bright red.

>>>>

Wandering through the streets with Charles’s arm around his waist, Francis let himself be happy for once. He knew they still had a lot to talk over, but the glow of a new relationship was a warm feeling. 

“Your arm okay?” Charles asked.

“As long as I don’t try to do any heavy lifting with it, I should be fine without the brace,” Francis smiled, leaned in and murmured, “I’m hoping you know some therapeutic massage techniques for later, though.” 

“Oh, I have some techniques for later, alright,” he growled against Francis’s ear.

A cheerful voice behind them called, “Francis! You finally brought someone home!”

He brought his head up, quickly scanning the crowd, “Hi, Katie! Aunt El said you were in town!”

The brunette quickly stepped up and gave him a hug, “Mum said the same, but only said you were bringing a friend, not your boyfriend!”

Francis felt the blush coloring his cheeks, and did not care. “Katie, this is Charles.” He kept the introduction casual, because it still was a public place, and he couldn't risk the full name being dropped into the rumor mill just yet.

Charles still had his left arm around Francis, and extended his right to Katie, “Glad to meet a friend of Francis’s,” but his hand was ignored in favor of another set of bisous.

“I’m glad he’s brought someone around, I’m getting tired of Mum trying to fix us up.” She grinned up at Francis, “I even told her we had the same taste in men, but she’s still deaf to that.”

Francis playfully pulled Charles closer to him in a show of mock possessiveness, “Yeah, I know. The difference is you were bolder about approaching them.” Then again, he was a bit possessive of Charles even before last night. The only difference now was he could let _Charles_ know he was being possessive.

“I know that look,” she giggled. “Not even going to suggest going after Charles, as long a dry spell as you've had.”

“Wouldn't work, anyway,” Charles responded, and pulled in closer to Francis. “You’re cute, but he’s perfect for me.”

The three of them walked through the festival, staying all day, giving the locals a good bit to talk about, the way Francis and Charles would not let go of each other. When Katie left them at sundown, Francis led them to a bench overlooking one of the quieter stages for acoustic folk singers.

“Charles?” Francis nudged against the side of his lover’s head, his lips barely touching the shell of his ear.

“Mmm,” Charles turned to him, his expression of contentment only slightly tinged with concern, “Getting tired?”

“Not really,” Francis rested his forehead against Charles’s. “Just making sure you weren't overloaded.”

“Not quite,” and Charles leaned in to kiss him. It started out as chaste, but Francis took a chance to tease with his tongue, and the kiss escalated quickly from there. This time it was Charles who gently pulled back, his voice rough and quiet, “I’m looking forward to some time alone with you.”

“Uhuh,” was all Francis was able to manage in response for a few minutes. When he thought he was capable of forming coherent speech, he said, “We should go. Indoors. Not here.” He stood, and nodded down the street towards the house.

Charles’s warm chuckle vibrated where their sides met as they wandered through the crowd to get to the house. 

>>>>

Sunday dinner was the next time they saw Aunt Ellen, as she had been out and about the rest of the weekend with various friends. Charles did not complain, because it had given him more time alone with Francis. In that time, he had discovered that Francis could feed himself, just not very well.

“I would scold you about taking better care of yourself, but you at least know how to make some basic, wholesome things.” He chuckled, putting the Yorkshire pudding in the oven before turning his attention to the resting roast. “Believe it or not, you aren't the worst cook I've met.”

“I believe it,” Francis said as he set the table. “I learned as much as I did to keep from having to eat the garbage my roommate survived on at university.”

“This is not what I expected when you asked if I needed anything from the store,” Aunt Ellen nodded at the platters being filled.

“Only fair that we feed you for your hospitality,” Charles gave her a winning smile.

“I promise, I just helped, he was in charge of the kitchen,” Francis added.

His aunt smacked him on his uninjured arm, “You aren't that bad. It does smell wonderful, though.”

“How was the service?” Francis asked.

“Not half as interesting as the coffee beforehand,” she chuckled, sitting at the table. “Carol Peterson ignored me the entire time, and Katie was chatting with everyone about how charming your beau was to her.”

Francis facepalmed, “Please tell me Mrs. Peterson is the only one who was upset by that.”

“Pretty much,” Aunt Ellen nodded. “Some of her cronies sidled up to me to ask when you had broken off the engagement with Katie, and I’m afraid I may have laughed at that one.” Francis dropped his head, but his aunt continued, “I had to explain to Maddie Thibodeaux about you and Katie trying to date Richard at the same time, then dropping him when he got caught stealing the headmaster’s car and tried to frame you for it. She’s been confused, because Carol insisted you were engaged, while she thought you were asexual.” She shrugged, “She did say she was glad you found someone, though.”

Charles put the last of the dishes on the table. “You didn't mention stealing a car, just the ship.”

“Because I didn't steal the car,” Francis chuckled.

“You didn't steal _that_ car, no,” his aunt corrected.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is not a chase.

The week following the festival was a dream for Francis.

He had not been able to visit any of the family in years, nor had he introduced anyone else to family members since university. True, he could visit while on medical leave, but this assignment had turned out better than any holiday. Put the delight he found in Charles’s arms on top of it, and Francis was on cloud nine. He deliberately did not think about what might happen tomorrow or next week, even if he knew he ought to talk to Charles about what to do after the trial. For right now, he wanted to live in the moment.

Waking up wrapped in Charles’s embrace was no longer a stolen sweet but an indulgence that they shared for much of their mornings. Charles was usually slow to wake, but extremely cuddly as he eased into consciousness, and Francis appreciated the way his hands wandered.

Arching into Charles’s touch, Francis murmured his appreciation, only to groan in annoyance as his phone rang.

Charles echoed his groan, mumbling, “Don’ ans’r.”

“Sorry, ’s Ken’s ringtone,” he murmured before answering, not exactly editing the sleepy annoyance out of his tone, “What?”

“Got movement, wake up.”

Francis tensed, unconsciously holding Charles tighter. “Where?”

The corporal’s voice was tense, “The chatter from the grapevine says they’re looking for the van to the east.”

“How close?”

“Close enough I’m worried. So far they've been concentrating between Winnipeg and Thunder Bay. You need to get under the wing.”

Francis gave Charles a worried look, “Understood.”

The line disconnected, and Charles frowned, “Time to run again?” 

“Time to switch vehicles, someone’s looking for the van,” Francis wrapped both arms around Charles, briefly holding him tight and kissing him, before rolling out of bed. “We need to get to headquarters. I’ll have to see about renting something for a few days.”

Charles got out of bed and pulled Francis into the shower, “I know we’ll have to be quick, but we both need to wash, first.”

If he lingered as he washed Charles’s hair this morning, Francis felt he could be permitted one last indulgence. 

>>>>

Downstairs, Aunt Ellen frowned at them as soon as they reached the kitchen. “What’s wrong?”

“We've got to go, but need to leave the van in the garage,” Francis answered, dropping Charles’s pack beside the door. “I can call the rental place as soon as they open…”

“No, the sooner you are on the move, the better your chances they’ll miss you,” She crossed to the mudroom closet, “Here, see if that its you, Charles.” She handed over a deep red and jade leather jacket.

“Aunt El, I can’t,” Francis started, but was cut off by his great-aunt shoving a similar jacket into his hands.

“You can and you will,” she said firmly. “Charles, you feel comfortable taking him out on the 600?”

“I -” he paused looking at Francis’s deer-in-the-headlights look and took his arm, “Yes. I can drive, you navigate. Trust me - you kept me safe to this point, I will be able to handle the driving for the last bit.” 

“Good, I can get a flight up later to retrieve the bike, if you need me to,” she turned to Francis, “Do you know if they are watching the house or not?”

He shook his head, “I don’t think so, but I’d rather not take the chance.”

“The helmets up there have the radio set,” She pointed to the high shelf for Francis to retrieve the hot-rod red headgear. “Short range, intended only for conversation between two within five meters of each other, so it should be fine for the the two of you on the same bike.” She got the keys out of the drawer, “The door to the alley is wide enough for my bike to fit, and it won’t be unusual for you to use it. I usually take that route to get to the highway,” then gave them both hugs.

“Thank you, Aunt Ellen,” Charles murmured, returning the hug. She showed them how to switch on the radios, and sent them out wearing the obscuring jackets and helmets.

“Comm check?” Francis asked as they crossed the yard.

“Yes, I can hear you,” Charles answered. “I’m going to take it slow until we get to the highway, if we can. I’ll need to get used to this bike, and paying attention to the road with you at my back.”

Once inside the garage, Francis pulled off his helmet, “Charles, wait,” his expression showed worry, and Charles got the picture.

He took off his helmet as well, and smiled reassuringly, “I’ll be fine. I’m awake and aware, so I know it’s you.” Charles stepped in close to give Francis a hug, “The main thing I’ll have to get used to is focusing on driving while being held close. You will have to hold close, you know.”

Francis nodded, and kissed Charles’s hair, “Just making sure. Speaking of which,” he released his hold on Charles, stripping out of the leather jacket.

“I thought we didn't have time for that,” Charles joked, but his tone was sad.

Francis opened the gun safe under the bed in the van, extracting a shoulder holster, his service pistol and taser. “Better to have it and not need it,” he said, settling his jacket back over the new additions, adding Charles’s pack over all.

Charles ran through the quick inspection of the bike, finding everything in good working order and nearly a full tank. “Good, we can get out of town a good ways before we have to refuel.”

Suited up, Francis was nearly anonymous, save for his height. “Aunt Ellen has made the trip without stopping, but that was with just her on the bike,” he went to slide back the alley door of the garage. “Ready?”

Charles donned his helmet, “Good to go.” Pushing the bike out to the alley before starting the engine. It did not give him the slightest problem, starting up immediately as Francis locked the garage door behind them.

He was right about needing to actively focus his attention on the road with Francis snugged up behind him. It was a comforting feeling, having his lover pressed against his back from shoulder to thigh. Charles might have goosed the throttle a little in his tension, which only made Francis hold him tighter as they accelerated down the alley.

If they were not on the run, Charles would have called it a good day for riding; slightly overcast, without the threat of rain, and not warm enough to make their jackets oppressive. He followed Francis’s directions to Highway 7, avoiding most of the early rush hour traffic by virtue of leaving town, rather than entering it. The ride would have been wonderful if it had not been for the tension transmitted through Francis’s grip. Charles nudged the bike to 90 km/h once they got out of the township limits, spurred on by the fear that someone was hunting for them.

>>>>

Francis was already keyed up for the dash for headquarters before he even got on the bike behind Charles. He had directed him to the highway to give them room to run. The trip by car to headquarters could take as long as six hours, more if there was heavy traffic. The way Charles was driving, it might take them less than five to get to safety, if they did not crash.

He debated reigning the doctor in; since it had been so long since he had traveled in Ontario, he had no way of knowing who might be running the speed traps here. What let Francis decide to let him drive at the limit was Charles’s firm control of the bike. They were making good time, and without followers, as yet.

There was little they could do if they were followed, honestly. If someone made an attempt at capture or, and he gripped Charles a little tighter at the thought, to remove him entirely, then Francis could act. Still, he kept watch for suspicious driving behaviors while they made their way to Ottawa. 

Two-thirds of the way there, Francis had Charles pull over at a petrol station. “Keep your helmet on, and fill up,” he murmured into the microphone. It was a quick stop, and Francis paid in cash, hoping to leave fewer triggers for anyone watching for his card to show up. He had not had to hide like this, but the truth was he was up against people who might have had the same training he received. 

Getting back on the highway, Charles murmured, “All clear?”

“So far,” Francis returned. “The closer we get, the more likely we might have a watcher, though.”

“Let me know when you see them, I still remember how to run.”

Francis did not spot any followers, but when they got downtown, they could have had a division after them the way Charles snaked the bike through the city traffic. _At least he isn't driving on the sidewalk_ was one positive thought Francis was able to hang onto. He held onto that thought as tightly as he held onto Charles, reading how and when to lean into the turns by the way the doctor tightened sections of his core muscles. 

By the time they reached the parking garage, Francis was not sure if his hair had gone white during the ride. 

>>>>

Charles knew it was not going to be a straightforward check in at the desk when they got to headquarters, but he did not imagine the bit with finding who was in charge of the case was going to be hidden in a bureaucratic labyrinth. He had no illusions that he was not going to be hidden; he hoped whatever cell they stored him in would at least have a light. However, the longer the wait for the interview became, the more worried he got. 

Francis was back in uniform posture, even in his great-aunt’s jacket and dungarees. It might not have been noticeable to the casual observer, but Charles saw that his eyes were still watching for trouble. So if his lover was still unsure of their safety, Charles would stay alert.

Finally, they were conducted to an office, one where the decor balanced between utilitarian issue and a comfortable work-space. It reminded Charles of the office suite for the chief medical officer at the hospital where he completed his internship. It spoke of someone who was willing to get into the work with full effort, someone who would lead by example rather than just pointing the way. At any rate, when they reached this officer, Francis seemed to relax, just enough that Charles could guess they were in good company.

The inspector behind the desk seemed to be familiar, but Charles could not quite place him. He had not caught the name on the door, nor were they introduced. 

The older man raised an eyebrow, “MacKenzie.”

“Sir.”

“You do realize you are relieved of the protection detail, yes?”

Francis did not twitch, but Charles could almost hear the starch come back in his voice, “In theory, sir.”

The inspector frowned, “MacKenzie, you know the rules.” He stood, “We need to get him to the safehouse before they realize you've been in the city. I can give you a few minutes, then he’s got to disappear again.” The older man left them in the office.

Charles watched Francis struggle with the order, and spoke quietly, “You did tell me they wouldn't let you stay with me, with the detail.” 

He nodded, “And I know why they want to hustle you along. Just… I want,” and he shook his head, “What I want isn't as important as keeping you safe.”

Charles murmured, very quietly, “Y sont d`abord avec nous?” touching Francis’s hand.

“Ché, mon chum, je m'en fous.” Francis sighed, leaned in, whispering, “If you need help,” he closed his eyes, “If you need me, I’ll be there. Just call.” He took off the pack, and wrapped Charles’s hands around the straps. “Just call.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, if someone wants to correct the joual, please let me know, as I know people point and laugh at my French.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a trial.

Before Francis even got to the motorcycle, he received a text from the corporal, _Saw your pic online get home_

He called the detachment, and Sally put him through to Ken, _Corporal Stanislaw_ Francis corrected himself, as he reported in, “Just calling in to find out if my next physical was scheduled, sir.”

“You sound like crap, MacKenzie. I’ll get with Chamberlain, but she’ll probably put you in Monday morning.”

“Okay.” 

“Now I know you’re out of it.”

“Just… very tired, sir.” Francis leaned against the bike, fighting the urge to go back into headquarters and request to be assigned to Charles’s detail. Again.

“Right. Hang loose, we’ll get the van when they get bored and stop looking.” 

Francis blinked, remembering one of Stanislaw's favorite idioms about doldrums, _When the kids get bored, something gets broken_ , usually a prophetic utterance, as it was generally followed by a cottage party getting out of hand or an accident on the river soon after that. He kept his tone casual as he asked, “So, do we put all the pieces back in the box, or let them sit for a while?”

“Yeah, leave it for now,” the corporal’s voice took on a quieter tone. “You need a ride?”

“I - I need to gather a few things, and head back home in a few days.”

>>>>

Charles knew Francis returned to active duty the week after they ran to headquarters because he still had the little emergency phone in his gear. Rather than risk his new handlers taking it away from him, he kept it turned off until the left him to sleep, and he was reasonably sure no-one was watching. 

The little phone was already programmed to be silent, so once he was alone, it was only the glance at the screen as it recharged that told him there was a text, sent the first evening they were separated.

_Missing you already. Stay safe_

Charles closed his eyes, breathing past the sharp stab of **want** the text brought to the surface, before he sent a response.

_Dreaming = van + you. Take care_

He stayed awake for another hour, with the phone charging under his pillow. When the sounds of the officers settling for the night finally quieted, he unplugged the phone, and checking the text, found another message from Francis.

_Be careful_

Charles resisted the temptation to text back, knowing if he did, they would both stay up far too late. He hid the phone in a pair of his hiking socks after turning it off to save the battery. 

>>>>

Francis’s flat had been cleaned up and cleared for occupancy before he got back, but his landlord had words for him when he handed over the new keys.

“I know this is not a usual thing, but the fact of the matter is, this was a quiet neighborhood. I’m hoping you stay a while, so I can say the last break in was years ago to the next resident.”

Francis shrugged, “I go where I’m sent, but if I get transferred, I’ll let the other members know first, and that way you’ll have another officer here.”

The elderly man grinned, “Aye, that could spin well, ‘we had a break-in, but the locks were replaced and a constable lives there now’. T'woudn't be a lie, even if you were still here.”

“Thank you,” Francis smiled, and stepped into his flat. His smile faded as he surveyed the damage. Most of the furniture was still intact, and he could repair the minor damage to pieces that were apparently tossed about, but the gouges in the hardwood floor and the plaster walls had been repaired by his landlord. This wasn't just a robbery by amateurs, the damage was a warning, a message that he had made someone angry, and he was not safe. 

_Bullies_ , he thought, _but at least they didn't get anything that couldn't be replaced_. 

He unpacked his bag, preparing to do laundry, but the count of shirts was off. He realized he had two of Charles’s t-shirts that had not gotten packed when they had to run. Standing alone in his bedroom, he hesitated only a moment before bringing one to his face and inhaling. The scent brought back the touch-memory of waking up in Charles’s embrace.

Saving the t-shirts out of the laundry, Francis tucked them under his pillow.

He returned to duty, first clearing the backlog of paperwork his medical leave had caused, then throwing himself into any investigation that was not related to Charles’s kidnapping or the break-in at his flat. With school starting soon, the number of search and rescue operations needed for lost campers dropped, and there were fewer demands on his flying skills. He needed a distraction, something to occupy his mind rather than worrying about Charles.

The longer the investigation went on, the more Francis put into the workday. Stanislaw had to threaten him to make him go home, “You keep doing this, I’ll have to let Dr Chamberlain know, and you know how she gets when anyone doesn't take care of themselves.”

“Yes, sir,” Francis nodded absently, “I just need to finish-”

“Save and close before I unplug your desk, Constable.” Stanislaw growled.

Francis paused, murmuring “yes, sir” as he followed orders.

He did not like going back to his flat, there was too much space for just him, now. He had gotten used to sharing smaller quarters with Charles, and what had been a comfortable residence was now too much echoing space.

>>>>

Charles was not sure why he was sure the officers would take his phone. Perhaps it was just a touch of paranoia. But he still was careful to keep it hidden from the officers.

He could not respond as quickly as Francis did to his texts, hiding the activity as he was, but they did manage to exchange short messages every few days. Signs of life, a connection to a happy journey, something to remind Charles that there was someone who remembered him and wished him well; he was not about to give up that lifeline.

He had been in protective custody for about a month when there was more to go on. Charles had not been allowed to watch the news on anything related to the investigation, but he got the feeling the officers guarding him were more alert one morning. 

Mid-morning, a suit showed up. She was not someone Charles recognized, so he guessed she might not be an elected official. The sergeant in charge of his detail introduced her as Ms Beeler, who was to be his coach.

“I thought coaching the testimony was frowned on,” Charles said.

Ms Beeler shook her head, “Not that kind of coaching. We will not be discussing anything about the evidence. My job is to make you appear not just presentable, but as a stable and professional pillar of society to the press and court.”

Charles favored her with a sardonic look, “You’re my pageant coach?”

She gave him the first genuine smile he had seen in weeks, “You may be fabulous now, but when I’m done with you, you are going to be _fierce_.”

>>>>

Francis muttered as he got his full dress uniform ready to travel. He was officially assigned to Ottawa for the duration of the trial, even if he was not a major witness. It was not even on Corporal Stanislaw's orders, but Inspector Cormier's.

Sally was helping him pack, as the civilian aide was driving him to the airport. “You taking your service order kit as well?”

“I hadn't thought about it,” he shrugged, “Not on prisoner escort duty, after all.”

She took the brown serge jacket from the closet and added it to the red tunic in the garment bag, “If you need to be invisible in the crowd, and still look official, it would come in handy.” She did not comment on the civilian clothes she was adding to his bag as well.

“Guess I’d better over-prepare,” Francis’s voice dropped to a murmur, “better to have it and not need it.” He was grateful that Ken seemed to be the only one from the detachment that suspected the ruse of the faked relationship might not be a ruse. If anyone suspected, they were not saying anything about it. As crass as some of the other pilots were, he would have ended up with a gross of condoms before he left the detachment. He was brought out of his musings as Sally brought his wash kit from the lavatory.

“The old advice is often old because it’s still useful,” Sally nodded as she zipped up the bag on the final bits of gear. “Come on, your flight leaves in an hour, and you’ll need the extra time to check in with security.”

>>>>

Charles fidgeted, though to the eyes of the constables assigned to escort him to court, it might have just seemed he was making sure he presented well. His glasses had been replaced just over two weeks ago, so he could not blame his unease and slight nausea on getting used to the new prescription anymore. No, not when he recognized the jitters he used to associate with a job interview or a blind date. Times when it was important to him that the other person saw his good points, over his faults.

He had not seen Francis in months, and Charles worried that his memories had polished the images of the young man. Silly of him to think so, as his first solid memories of the constable were tinged with his escape-induced panic or Francis’s pain. Not the best of circumstances to build rose-tinted memories, but Charles still was in knots. 

Watching the crowd filter into the courtroom through the closed circuit television in the sequestering room, Charles fiddled with his eyeglasses again. There was a moment when he softly laughed to himself, realizing he was looking for the familiar, worn, comforting plaid flannel Francis had worn the last day he had seen him. Would he be in uniform? Probably so, if he was here to testify in an official capacity.

The shock when he recognized Francis in uniform made him catch his breath. The brilliant red the RCMP wore for formal occasions seemed to give him the same distance as the other officers, but there was something in his eyes, something Charles had come to interpret as worry. His hair was regulation short, Charles realized the constable had likely gotten it cut in the past few days, for the same reasons his handlers had made sure to have his suit fit properly, and made sure he was clean-shaven; all part of the presentation.

Still, that uniform ought to be listed as a dangerous weapon, on the right body.

>>>>

They did not speak during the week of the trial, and Francis tried to be professional. It was difficult maintaining a detached official demeanor with the shock of seeing Charles as a polished professional. He was still not back up to the full weight he had when they had made his official ID almost two years ago, but he had lost the last trace of gauntness his imprisonment had given him. 

Francis’s hands itched to run his fingers through Charles’s hair, cut to shoulder length as it had been when he was taken hostage by the drug ring. He tried to keep his blushing under control, but as soon as Charles started his testimony, no-one paid any attention to the RCMP officers in the courtroom.

He knew the outline of Charles’s captivity, and what he had written in those notebooks, but when it came to the cross-examination, it was worse than Francis had allowed himself to imagine. Several people had to leave the gallery in distress on hearing the testimony. Finally, Charles was done, and allowed to leave, pale and shaking, but still with shoulders square and his head up. They exchanged a brief glance, all that they could risk in court, and he was gone.

Francis’s testimony was much shorter, the constable giving evidence of Charles’s condition when he was detained, the panicked babbling of evidence and attempt on the doctor’s life while they were in the air, and the official story that Charles had performed triage after the crash before disappearing. Stanislaw had been firm about that in his report. How Charles got from Billiard Lake to Ottawa was not relevant to the prosecution, and thankfully the defense left it alone as well. 

He stayed for the entirety of the testimony, through Dr Chamberlin’s detailed examination report. Francis suppressed his anger at the photos showing the full extent of the bruising, though he had helped treat Charles’s bruises. The x-rays showing the coccyx fracture and dislocation that Francis had known nothing about, because Charles had not complained about them, and the associated trauma evidence made several of the jurors visibly uncomfortable.

In the end, charges against Charles were dropped, and the whole circus would start again as the courts scheduled trials against the individuals identified in the testimony. Charles was free, but also needed for several more trials.

>>>>

Francis attempted to get to speak to Charles after court adjourned, but doing so without attracting a great deal of attention was going to be tough. In a sea of uniforms, most of the reporters were focusing on the doctor, so the closer Francis got to him, the more likely someone would take note of his presence, even in his Service Order browns. Even so, Francis wanted to reassure Charles that he still wanted to see him when the excitement about the trial calmed down. He reached the fringes of the circus around Charles, when a movement at the edge of his vision narrowed his focus to the gun being brought up to aim.

“GUN!” he shouted, diving for the attacker, wrestling him to the ground. There was a small part of his brain that recognized Jimmy Greene, the right hand of drug ring’s kingpin, one of the few they had not yet caught. The greater part of his conscious mind focused on restraining himself to merely disarming the gunman, instead of beating the man senseless with his own pistol for his part in what had been done to Charles.

The shots fired did not register with Francis until Greene was restrained by the constables on court duty, and someone was shouting for an ambulance. He turned in time to see several other officers holding a resistant Charles in the elevator as the doors closed. Staring down the hallway, awareness of his physical pain slowly made itself known over the emotional bruises. Then he realized the pain was in his shoulder, not in his upper arm from his past injuries. Looking down at his sleeve turning from brown to deep maroon, he murmured, “Oh, that’s not good,” then sat down abruptly in the middle of the crowded hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Full Dress Uniform**  
>  Felt hat; scarlet serge tunic; blue serge breeches; long boots; jack spurs; brown gauntlets when on parade with other ranks, brown leather gloves on other occasions; medals and decorations.
> 
> Arms and equipment: Sam Browne belt; sword; whistle and lanyard when mounted.
> 
> To be worn: formal public parades, state funerals; church parades; mounted or public parades with ranks in review order; meeting the Governor General on semi-formal basis, member’s wedding, post inspections; non-public parades with other ranks in review order; or when appearing as a witness in high court.
> 
> **Service Order Uniform**  
>  Felt hat or forage cap or field service cap; brown serge jacket; khaki shirt and collar; blue tie; blue serge breeches; long boots; jack spurs; leather gloves or leather gauntlets (if mounted).
> 
> Arms and equipment: Sam Browne equipment; revolver and lanyard, with or without bandolier; or stripped Sam Browne as ordered.
> 
> To be worn: For general field duty; prisoner’s escort; drill; or similar duties in spring or autumn.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is recovery

Francis woke from his surgery to be greeted by his CO. “Back with us again, MacKenzie?” 

“Seems so, sir.” Francis was frowning at the new stripes on his superior’s uniform, wondering if they had given him the good drugs again. 

Stanislaw looked down at his sleeve, and shrugged, “You’re getting another commendation out of the mess, as well.” 

Francis asked, “Did Charles get out safely?”

“That circus you started in the hallway gave the reporters a great distraction,” Ken shrugged, “But it would have been better if _nobody_ had gotten shot. Still, your scuffle with Greene made it easier for the officers in his detail to get the doctor out of the building before the news outlets realized it.”

Francis nodded numbly, not quite hearing the rest of the unofficial debriefing. He was replaying the last time he saw Charles, being hauled away to the elevator.

Sergeant Stanislaw was still talking, “... and when you are done with _this_ round of physical rehabilitation, you've got an assignment waiting for you at the new air station in north Manitoba. The commander there was very adamant to get you, but don’t worry, he was in my troop at Depot, a stand-up guy. You keep doing well, and don’t get yourself shot again, you’re likely to make flight lead in a year or so.”

“Thank you, sir.” Francis tried to smile, but from his superior’s look of sympathy, it did not quite work.

Even before he got out of the hospital, he tried to find Charles, but his supervisor shook his head at Francis’s not-even-pretending-to-be-subtle questions, “Best not to get into that, he’s under FWPP for now.”

_Federal Witness Protection Program, of course, it made sense_ , Francis tried to keep his face from showing his disappointment. Charles would be needed to testify if - _when_ Francis sternly told himself - they caught up to the rest of the major players. And because he had not said anything about… the important questions, Francis had lost him.

The news crews had a lovely time covering his supposed heroics, so much so that Francis could not find any clear pictures of Charles. One blurry picture, likely taken by a phone in the hallway, appeared in the _Quis Custodiet_ newsblog. It was a quarter-profile shot of Charles, almost out of frame, reported to have been taken at the moment after the first shot. Not quite correct, as Greene had been tackled after the second shot. Charles had been reaching down the hall, held back by a pack of constables, just as Francis had turned to see him. Francis saved a copy of the picture to his personal data pad, renamed as “Last seen”. A few hours later, the blog photo had been edited, with Charles cropped out, making the dogpile on Greene behind Francis the focus of the shot.

It took another month for Francis to convince the physical therapists that he was able for duty. Convincing the psychiatrist and counselor that he was ready was much easier, since they had not known him before the shooting, so they not known that he was much quieter than before the crash. If the PT staff were still not unanimous, they were “convinced” by a letter from the new CO.

“You are being cleared, but only for light duty for the next month, and you are to check in with the medical staff at the Blue Snow Falls base clinic,” Dr Chamberlain huffed, “and no more jumping in front of bullets! Just because you’re still shy of thirty is no excuse to collect more scars!”

Francis nodded, “I am not planning on it, Doctor.” Of course, he had not planned on getting shot at several times in the course of a summer on SAR duty. “The shoulder reminds me when to cut back.”

Dr Chamberlain got an odd look on her face, “I suppose it’s useless to tell you things like ‘be careful’, once you've been issued the uniform.”

“I will be careful,” Francis replied. “There’s not so many of us that they can spare any of us for long.” His small smile was supposed to be reassuring. From Dr Chamberlain's expression, it was possibly the one response she never expected from him, and his smile still did not quite work.

Blue Snow Falls was remote enough that it was inaccessible by anything but boat or air, and in emergency situations, by horseback or dogsled. Far enough out for Francis to be familiar with the standards of planning ahead for supplies; he was complimented by the quartermaster for asking the right questions on what he would need to bring with him. His arrival was with the noon mailplane, and his inprocessing took the rest of the office day. A well-run station, with a balance of casual regard for ceremony, but a fierce adherence to maintenance protocols and duty standards.

Once he was signed into his on-duty quarters and given the tour of the small base, his interview with the base commander Staff Sergeant Parashar Rampersad-Padmanabhan was nearly an afterthought. Here the balance to casual was in evidence that the commander was not referred to as _sir_ or his rank, but simply as _Chief_.

“Stanislaw was reluctant to let you go, but to be honest, the media circus around your last assignment would have driven Vishnu to rage,” the senior officer shook his head. “Even without the need to get you out of there, you come highly recommended. Until you’re cleared for flight duty, we still need someone like you, familiar with this type of terrain and the duties needed in patrolling it, on fire watch and radio shifts,” then the commander’s aide met them in the office with a small stack of files.

“Right, that’s the last of it, except your intake physical,” the chief handed a couple of the files over to Francis, his medical records from the last month. “And if you hurry, you can catch the doctor before his regular office hours end. Dr Chamberlain has been blistering the phone, making sure we don’t break you as soon as you get here,” the commander gave a small smile, almost hidden by his beard. “Once Doc has you cleared for radio duty, I can close that door.”

“Yes, sir.” After he left the CO’s office, Francis walked briskly past the flight line, carrying his records, and that was nearly as good as a clipboard for getting people to not notice him. The clinic was on the far side of the hangars, closer to the machine shops and the landing zones than the residential section, which made sense for the kinds of accidents needing trauma care as opposed to first aid in either location.

Entering the clinic, he was faced with a young man in scrubs at the front desk, and asked, “Are you the doctor?”

The young man shook his head, grinning, “I’m Seamus James, the physician’s assistant. You’ll be Constable MacKenzie?”

Francis nodded, and handed over his files, “I brought the last of my medical...” but was interrupted by a shout from the back of the clinic.

“SEAMUS! Where are those blasted files!”

Francis froze in shock. He knew that voice, but that was impossible, they would not have sent him here if that was….

“Don’t worry, for all his barking, he doesn't bite” Seamus chuckled, misinterpreting Francis’s reaction. “I’ll be right back.” The young man took Francis’s files to the source of the shout.

_He does bite, but only if you ask him to_ , Francis thought in the quiet of the waiting room. He blushed, then paled as he thought of all the reasons why Charles would not have contacted him. Francis was still frozen in place when the PA escorted him into one of the treatment rooms.

The doctor’s hair had been cut short enough to curl up against his skull, with a full short beard, and the half-glasses were nothing like the ones he had used at the trial, but that profile was enough to make Francis light-headed.

“It’s late enough I won’t make you go through the full examination tonight, but we’ll get you through intake and approved for desk work,” Charles-not-Charles frowned at him. “That is not getting you out of the annual physical,” he growled. “We can schedule that later, next week sometime. Got the xrays, Seamus?”

The examination continued as the doctor asked questions about his most recent treatment, and tested the range of motion for Francis’s right shoulder, going so far as to have Francis strip out of his shirt so he could check the scar tissue. “Mmn, not too bad, we’ll have to keep working on that to keep it mobile, but you’ve had a good start.”

“Even if I hadn’t been able to fly after getting shot, it was worth it,” Francis responded quietly.

There was a short, sharp sound from the doctor, barely loud enough for Francis to hear him at close range, but he continued, “Hmph, got yourself shot up for some damned fool who probably hasn't given you a proper thank you or even contacted you since,” the doctor grumbled, placing the stethoscope to listen to Francis’s heart.

A heart that was beating much too fast, despite his attempts to seem calm. “I suspect he wasn't allowed to call, even if he had wanted to,” Francis said, trying to keep his voice even. “I hope to hear from him soon, once the news has been released, considering the situation.” His hand went to touch the scar across his nose.

“And then they send you to the ass-end of nowhere as a reward,” he moved the stethoscope to Francis’s back to listen to his lungs, “Deep breath.”

Francis complied, fighting the tremor he felt. “Glad enough to be anywhere, but the base here has its merits, and one especially strong reason for me to stay here.”

The doctor’s hand on his uninjured shoulder tightened, just enough to be barely perceptible to the patient. Francis stomped on his impulse to cover the doctor’s hand with his own at this tangible indication that he might **not** be imagining that this was Charles.

“All right then,” the doctor said, “Get your shirt on, I’ll be back to cover your PT restrictions and requirements. Seamus, I'll work on the report tonight…” and the door closed between them as the doctor ushered his assistant out.

Francis reassembled his uniform, and tried to reassemble his thoughts. That was Charles. That might even be _his_ Charles, if he indulged in thinking they were still on the same page as before the trial. He gripped the edge of the examination table, to keep his hands from shaking.

The few minutes it took the doctor to return felt like an eternity, but when Charles came back in, he held up his hand, “I know, I should have called, I’m sorry, they only told me this morning that Brown was in custody, and I am likely an asinine fool, but can you forgive me?”

Francis slid off the table, and stepped across to Charles, “What am I forgiving you of this time? Not calling? You weren't supposed to contact me until you were cleared, and that was,” he was interrupted by the text alert on his phone, but he ignored it, this was too important, “...just today they released the information on the last of the gang being apprehended.”

Charles held up the little emergency phone, “I kept it charged, but I've been a coward today.” The phone showed _text sent_.

Pulling his phone out, Francis switched to read the message. Ten characters, but all the more important for being sent. Pocketing his phone, he wrapped his arms around the doctor, touching his forehead to Charles’s. “Love you too, Charles Pemberton.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the last I've heard from this universe, thus far. There's always the chance to work on Charles's fear of flying later, but for now I think they want some privacy.


End file.
